Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/594

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True, separations

Ask more than patience;

What desperations

From such have risen!

But yet remaining,

What is't but chaining

Hearts which, once waning,

Beat 'gainst their prison?

Time can but cloy love,

And use destroy love:

The wingéd boy, Love,

Is but for boys—

You'll find it torture

Though sharper, shorter,

To wean, and not wear out your joys. December 1, 1819. [First published, New Monthly Magazine, 1832, vol. xxxv. pp. 310-312.]

ODE TO A LADY WHOSE LOVER WAS KILLED BY A BALL, WHICH AT THE SAME TIME SHIVERED A PORTRAIT NEXT HIS HEART.

.

On peut trouver des femmes qui n'ont jamais eu de galanterie, mais il est rare d'en trouver qui n'en aient jamais en qu'une.—[Réflexions ... du Duc de la Rochefoucauld, No. lxxiii.]

1.

! in whose heroic port

And haughty lineaments, appear

Much that is awful, more that's dear—

Wherever human hearts resort

There must have been for thee a Court,

And Thou by acclamation Queen,

Where never Sovereign yet had been.