[Byron]   [Home]


LOVE'S LAST ADIEW

By
Lord Byron


&/\&/\&

The roses of love glad the garden of life,

Though nurtured 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,

Till time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,

Or prunes them for ever,  in love's last adieu !
 

In vain with endearments we sooth the sad heart,

In vain do we vow for an age to be true;

The chance of an hour may command us to part,

Or death disunite us in love's last adieu !
 

Still Hope, breathing peace through the grief-swollen breast,

Will whisper,  "Our meeting we yet may renew:"

With this dream of deceit half our sorrow's represt,

Nor taste we the poison of love's last adieu !
 

Oh  mark you yon pair:  in the sunshine of youth

Loves twined round their childhood his flowers as they grew;

They flourish awhile in the season of truth,

Till chill'd by the winter of love's last adieu !
 

Sweet lady !   why thus doth a tear steal its way

Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue?

Yet why do I ask? --- to distraction a prey,

Thy reason has perish'd with love's last adieu !
 

Oh  who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind?

From cities to caves of the forest he flew:

There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;

The mountains reverberate love's last adieu !
 

Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains

Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew;

Depair now inflames the dark tide of his veins;

He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu !
 

How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel !

His pleasures are scarce,  yet his troubles are few,

Who laughs at the pang which he never can feel,

And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu !
 

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast;

No more with love's former devotion we sue:

He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;

The shroud of affection is love's last adieu !
 

In this life of probation for rapture divine,

Astrea declares that some penance is due;

From him who has worshipp'd at love's gentle shrine,

The atonement is ample in love's last adieu !
 

Who kneels to the god, on his altar of light

Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:

His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight:

His cyrpess, the garland of love's last adieu !
 

&/\&/\&


 
[Byron]   [Home]