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Lord Byron
January 16, 1807 (Published 1832)


Oh, Anne your offences to me have been grievous:

I thought from my wrath no atonement could save you:

But woman is made to command and deceive us ---

I look'd in your face, and I almost forgave you.

I vou'd I could ne'er for a moment respect you.

Yet thought that a day's separation was long;

When we met, I determined again to suspect you ---

Your smile soon convinced me suspicion was wrong.

I swore, in a transport of young indignation,

With fervent contempt evermore to disdain you:

I saw you --- my anger became admiration:

And now, all my wish, all my hope's to regain you.

With beauty like yours, oh, how vain the contention !

Thus lowly I sue for forgiveness before you;

At once to conclude such a fruitless dissension,

Be false, my sweet Anne, when I cease to adore you !


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