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Sonnet, To Genevra

Lord Byron
December 17, 1813


Thine eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair,

And the wan lustre of thy features --- caught

From contemplation - where serenely wrought,

Seems Sorrow's softness charm'd from its despair ---

Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air,

That --- but I know thy blessed bosom fraught

With mines of unalloy'd and stainless thought ---

I should have deem'd thee doom'd to earthly care.

With such an aspect, by his colours blent,

When from his beauty-breathing pencil born

(Except that thou hast nothing to repent),

The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn ---

Such seem'st thou --- but how much more excellent !

With nought Remorse can claim --- nor Virtue scorn.


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