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To Woman

Lord Byron


SURELY experience might have told me,

That all must love thee, who behold thee;

Surely experience might have taught,

A woman's promises are naught,

But plac'd in all thy charms before me,

All I forget, but to adore thee.

Oh, memory!   thou choicest blessing,

When join'd with hope, when still possessing;

Thou whisperest, as our hearts are beating,

"What oft we've done, we're still repeating."

But how much curst by every lover,

When hope is fled, and passion's over.

Woman that fair and fond deceiver,

How prompt are striplings to believe her,

How throbs the pulse, when first we view,

The eye that rolls in glossy blue;

Or sparkles black, or mildly throws,

A beam from under hazel brows;

How quick we credit every oath,

And hear her plight the willing troth;

Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye,

When lo!   she changes in a day,

The Record will forever stand,

"That woman's vows, are writ in sand."


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