Poem by George Gordon Byron

Imitation of Tibullus

Cruel Cerinthus! does the fell disease
Which racks my breast your fickle bosom please?
Alas! I wish'd but to o'ercome the pain,
That I might live for love and you again;
But now I scarcely shall bewail my fate:
By death alone I can avoid your hate.

1. To Florence
2. The Spell Is Broke, the Charm Is Flown!
3. Churchill’s Grave
4. On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School
5. To the Earl of Clare

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