Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/77

Rh Or doom the lover you have chosen,

On winter nights to sigh half frozen;

In leafless shades, to sue for pardon,

Only because the scene's a garden?

For gardens seem, by one consent,

(Since Shakespeare set the precedent;

Since Juliet first declar'd her passion)

To form the place of assignation.

Oh! would some modern muse inspire,

And seat her by a sea-coal fire;

Or had the bard at Christmas written,

And laid the scene of love in Britain;

He surely, in commiseration,

Had chang'd the place of declaration.

In Italy, I've no objection,

Warm nights are proper for reflection;

But here our climate is so rigid,

That love itself, is rather frigid:

Think on our chilly situation,

And curb this rage for imitation.

Then let us meet, as oft we've done,

Beneath the influence of the sun;

Or, if at midnight I must meet you,

Within your mansion let me greet you:

There we can love for hours together,

Much better, in such snowy weather,

Than plac'd in all th' Arcadian groves,