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TO MARION

By
Lord Byron
1807


&/\&/\&

Marion !   Why that pensive brow ?

What disgust to life hast thou?

Change that discontented air;

Frowns become not one so fair.

'Tis not Love disturbs thy rest,

Love's a stranger to thy breast;

He, in dimpling smiles, appears,

Or mourns in sweetly timid tears;

Or bends the languid eyelid down,

But shuns the cold forbidding frown.

Then resume thy former fire,

Some will love, and all admire;

While that icy aspect chills us,

Nought but cool indiff'rence thrills us.

Would'st thou wand'ring hearts beguile,

Smile, at least, or seem to smile;

Eyes, like thine, were never meant

To hide their orbs, in dark restraint;

Spite of all thou fain would'st say,

Still in truant beams they play.

Thy lips, --- but here my modest Muse

Her impulse chaste must needs refuse,

She blushes, curtsies, frowns, --- in short she

Dreads, lest the subject should transport me;

And flying off, in search of reason,

Brings prudence back in proper season.

All I shall, therefore, say,  ( whate'er

I think, is neither here nor there, )

Is that such lips, of looks endearing,

Were form'd for better things, than sneering;

Of soothing compliments divested,

Advice, at least's, disinterested;

Such is my artless song to thee,

From all the flow of flatt'ry free;

Counsel, like mine, is as a brother's,

My heart is given to some others;

That is to say, unskill'd to cosen,

It shares itself amongst a dozen.
 

Marion !  adieu !  oh !  prithee slight not

This warning, tho' it may delight not;

And, lest my precepts be displeasing,

To those, who think remonstrance teazing,

At once, I'll tell thee our opinion,

Concerning woman's soft dominion:

Howe'er we gaze with admiration,

On eyes of blue, or lips carnation;

Howe'er the flowing locks attract us,

Howe'er those beauties may distract us;

Still fickle, we are prone to rove,

These cannot fix our souls to love,

It is not too severe a stricture,

To say they form a pretty picture.

But, would'st thou see the secret chain,

Which binds us in your humble train,

To hail your queens of all creation,

Know, in a word, 'tis ANIMATION.

&/\&/\&


 
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