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George Gordon Byron - To The Countess Of Blessington
Work rating: Medium

You have ask`d for a verse:--the request
   In a rhymer `twere strange to deny;
But my Hippocrene was but my breast,
   And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.
 
Were I now as I was, I had sung
   What Lawrence has painted so well;
But the strain would expire on my tongue,
   And the theme is too soft for my shell.
 
I am ashes where once I was fire,
   And the bard in my bosom is dead;
What I loved I now merely admire, 
   And my heart is as grey as my head.
 
My life is not dated by years--
   There are moments which act as plough;
And there is not a furrow appears
   But is deep in my soul as my brow.
 
Let the young and the brilliant aspire
   To sing what I gaze on in vain;
For sorrow has torn from my lyre
   The string which was worthy the strain.
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