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George Gordon Byron (Джордж Гордон Байрон)


To Anne


Oh, Anne, your offences to me have been grievous:
I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you;
But Woman is made to command and deceive us—
I look’d in your face, and I almost forgave you.

I vow’d I could ne’er for a moment respect you,
  Yet thought that a day’s separation was long;
When we met, I determined again to suspect you—
  Your smile soon convinced me suspicion was wrong.

I swore, in a transport of young indignation,
  With fervent contempt evermore to disdain you:
I saw you—my anger became admiration;
  And now, all my wish, all my hope’s to regain you.

With beauty like yours, oh, how vain the contention!
  Thus lowly I sue for forgiveness before you;—
At once to conclude such a fruitless dissension,
  Be false, my sweet Anne, when I cease to adore you!



George Gordon Byron's other poems:
  1. To A Knot Of Ungenerous Critics
  2. To Edward Noel Long, Esq.
  3. Fill The Goblet Again
  4. Hebrew Melodies 18. Francisca
  5. Hebrew Melodies 20. Bright Be the Place of thy Soul


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