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George Gordon Byron - To A Lady
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O! had my Fate been join`d with thine,
    As once this pledge appear`d a token,
These follies had not, then, been mine,
    For, then, my peace had not been broken.

To thee, these early faults I owe,
    To thee, the wise and old reproving:
They know my sins, but do not know
    `Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.

For once my soul, like thine, was pure,
    And all its rising fires could smother;
But, now, thy vows no more endure,
    Bestow`d by thee upon another.

Perhaps, his peace I could destroy,
    And spoil the blisses that await him;
Yet let my Rival smile in joy,
    For thy dear sake, I cannot hate him.

Ah! since thy angel form is gone,
    My heart no more can rest with any;
But what it sought in thee alone,
    Attempts, alas! to find in many.

Then, fare thee well, deceitful Maid!
    `Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee;
Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid,
    But Pride may teach me to forget thee.

Yet all this giddy waste of years,
    This tiresome round of palling pleasures;
These varied loves, these matrons` fears,
    These thoughtless strains to Passion`s measures--

If thou wert mine, had all been hush`d:--
    This cheek, now pale from early riot,
With Passion`s hectic ne`er had flush`d,
    But bloom`d in calm domestic quiet.

Yes, once the rural Scene was sweet,
    For Nature seem`d to smile before thee;
And once my Breast abhorr`d deceit,--
    For then it beat but to adore thee.

But, now, I seek for other joys--
    To think, would drive my soul to madness;
In thoughtless throngs, and empty noise,
    I conquer half my Bosom`s sadness.

Yet, even in these, a thought will steal,
    In spite of every vain endeavor;
And fiends might pity what I feel--
    To know that thou art lost for ever.
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