Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/262

222 For thine are pinions like the wind,

No trace of thee remains behind,

Except, alas! thy jealous stings.

Away, away! delusive power,

Thou shalt not haunt my coming hour;

Unless, indeed, without thy wings.

5.

Seat of my youth! thy distant spire

Recalls each scene of joy;

My bosom glows with former fire,—

In mind again a boy.

Thy grove of elms, thy verdant hill,

Thy every path delights me still,

Each flower a double fragrance flings;

Again, as once, in converse gay,

Each dear associate seems to say,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

6.

My Lycus! wherefore dost thou weep?

Thy falling tears restrain;