Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/72

32 TO MARY,

.

1.

faint resemblance of thy charms,

(Though strong as mortal art could give,)

My constant heart of fear disarms,

Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

2.

Here, I can trace the locks of gold

Which round thy snowy forehead wave;

The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould,

The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.

3.

Here I can trace—ah, no! that eye,

Whose azure floats in liquid fire,

Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

4.

Here, I behold its beauteous hue;

But where's the beam so sweetly straying,