George Gordon Byron

To a Lady (This Band, which bound thy yellow hair)

Who Presented the Author with the Velvet Band which bound her Tresses


This Band, which bound thy yellow hair
⁠Is mine, sweet girl! thy pledge of love;
It claims my warmest, dearest care,
⁠Like relics left of saints above.


Oh! I will wear it next my heart;
⁠'Twill bind my soul in bonds to thee:
From me again 'twill ne'er depart,
⁠But mingle in the grave with me.


The dew I gather from thy lip
⁠Is not so dear to me as this;
That I but for a moment sip,
⁠And banquet on a transient bliss:


This will recall each youthful scene,
⁠E'en when our lives are on the wane;
The leaves of Love will still be green
⁠When Memory bids them bud again. 

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