(George Gordon Byron)






On Finding a Fan


In one who felt as once he felt,
  This might, perhaps, have fannd the flame;
But now his heart no more will melt,
  Because that heart is not the same.

As when the ebbing flames are low,
  The aid which once improved their light,
And bade them burn with fiercer glow,
  Now quenches all their blaze in night.

Thus has it been with Passions fires
  As many a boy and girl remembers
While every hope of love expires,
  Extinguishd with the dying embers.

The first, though not a spark survive,
  Some careful hand may teach to burn;
The last, alas! can neer survive;
  No touch can bid its warmth return.

Or, if it chance to wake again,
  Not always doomd its heat to smother,
It sheds (so wayward fates ordain)
  Its former warmth around another.




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