Poem by George Gordon Byron

To Caroline (When I hear you express an affection so warm)

1.

When I hear you express an affection so warm,
⁠   Ne'er think, my belov'd, that I do not believe;
For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm,
⁠   And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive.

2.

Yet still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring,
   ⁠That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear,
That Age will come on, when Remembrance, deploring,
⁠   Contemplates the scenes of her youth, with a tear;

3.

That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining
⁠   Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze
When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining,
   ⁠Prove nature a prey to decay and disease.

4.

'Tis this, my belov'd, which spreads gloom o'er my features,
   ⁠Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree
Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures,
⁠   In the death which one day will deprive you of me.

5.

Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion,
   ⁠No doubt can the mind of your lover invade;
He worships each look with such faithful devotion,
⁠   A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade.

6.

But as death, my belov'd, soon or late shall o'ertake us,
   ⁠And our breasts, which alive with such sympathy glow,
Will sleep in the grave, till the blast shall awake us,
⁠   When calling the dead, in Earth's bosom laid low.

7.

Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure,
⁠   Which from passion, like ours, must unceasingly flow;
Let us pass round the cup of Love's bliss in full measure,
⁠   And quaff the contents as our nectar below.

1. Churchill’s Grave
2. Epitaph
3. On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School
4. Lines Addressed to a Young Lady
5. To the Earl of Clare

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