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George Gordon Byron - Stanzas
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             Could Love for ever
             Run like a river,
             And Time`s endeavour
                Be tried in vain ­
             No other pleasure
             With this could measure;
             And like a treasure       
             We`d hug the chain.
             But since our sighing
             Ends not in dying,
             And, form `d for flying,
               Love plumes his wing;
             Then for this reason
             Let`s love a season
But let that season be only Spring.
 
             When lovers parted
             Feel broken-hearted,
             And, all hopes thwarted,
               Expect to die;
             A few years older,             
             Ah! how much colder
             They might behold her
               For whom they sigh!
             When link `d together,
             In every weather,
             They pluck Love`s feather
               From out his wing­
             He`ll stay for ever,
             But sadly shiver
Without his plumage, when past the Spring
 
            Like chiefs of Faction,
            His life is action--
            A formal paction
              That curbs his reign,
            Obscures his glory,
            Despot no more, he
            Such territory
              Quits with disdain.
            Still, still advancing,
            With banners glancing, 
            His power enhancing,
              He must move on­--
            Repose but cloys him,
            Retreat destroys him,
Love brooks not a degraded throne.
 
            Wait not, fond lover!
            Till years are over,
            And then recover
              As from a dream.
            While each bewailing
            The other`s failing,
            With wrath and railing,
              All hideous seem--         
            While first decreasing,
            Yet not quite ceasing,
            Wait not till teasing
              All passion blight:
            If once diminish`d,
            Love`s reign is finish`d--
Then part in friendship-and hid good­night.
           
           So shall Affection
           To recollection
           The dear connexion
              Bring back with joy:
           You had not waited
           Till, tired or hated,
           Your passions sated
              Began to cloy.
           Your last embraces
           Leave no cold traces--
           The same fond faces
           As through the past:
           And eyes, the mirrors
          Of your sweet errors,
Reflect but rapture--not least though last.
 
            True, separations
            Ask more than patience;
            What desperations
              From such have risen!
            But yet remaining,
            What is`t but chaining
            Hearts which, once waning,
              Beat `gainst their prison?
            Time can but cloy love
            And use destroy love:  
            The winged boy, Love,
              Is but for boys--
            You`ll find it torture,
            Though sharper, shorter
To wean, and not wear out your joys.
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