Poem by George Gordon Byron

Last Words on Greece

What are to me those honours or renown
⁠   Past or to come, a new-born people's cry?
Albeit for such I could despise a crown
   ⁠Of aught save laurel, or for such could die.
I am a fool of passion, and a frown
   ⁠Of thine to me is as an adder's eye.
To the poor bird whose pinion fluttering down
⁠   Wafts unto death the breast it bore so high;
Such is this maddening fascination grown,
⁠   So strong thy magic or so weak am I.

1. Churchill’s Grave
2. On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School
3. To the Earl of Clare
4. Lines Addressed to a Young Lady
5. Reply to some Verses of J. M. B. Pigot, Esq., on the Cruelty of his Mistress

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