Poem by George Gordon Byron

To Lesbia!

1.

Lesbia! since far from you I've rang'd,
⁠   Our souls with fond affection glow not;
You say, 'tis I, not you, have chang'd,
⁠   I'd tell you why,—but yet I know not.

2.

Your polish'd brow no cares have crost;
⁠   And Lesbia! we are not much older,
Since, trembling, first my heart I lost,
⁠   Or told my love, with hope grown bolder.

3.

Sixteen was then our utmost age,
⁠   Two years have lingering pass'd away, love!
And now new thoughts our minds engage,
⁠   At least, I feel disposed to stray, love!

4.

'Tis I that am alone to blame,
⁠   I that am guilty of love's treason;
Since your sweet breast is still the same,
⁠   Caprice must be my only reason.

5.

I do not, love! suspect your truth,
   ⁠With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;
Warm was the passion of my youth,
⁠   One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

6.

No, no, my flame was not pretended;
⁠   For, oh! I lov'd you most sincerely;
And though our dream at last is ended
   ⁠My bosom still esteems you dearly.

7.

No more we meet in yonder bowers;
⁠   Absence has made me prone to roving;
But older, firmer hearts than ours
⁠   Have found monotony in loving.

8.

Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd,
   ⁠New beauties, still, are daily bright'ning,
Your eye, for conquest beams prepar'd,
⁠   The forge of love's resistless lightning.

9.

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,
⁠   Many will throng, to sigh like me, love!
More constant they may prove, indeed;
   ⁠Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love! 

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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