George Gordon Noel Byron

. . . Years steal
Fire from the mind, as vigor from the limb;
And life's enchanted read more

. . . Years steal
Fire from the mind, as vigor from the limb;
And life's enchanted cut but sparkles near the brim.

And hold up to the sun my little taper.

And hold up to the sun my little taper.

But owned that smile, if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer.

But owned that smile, if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer.

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her eyebrow's read more

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow,
Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,
Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow,
As if her veins ran lightning.

So bright the tear in Beauty's eye,
Love half regrets to kiss it dry.

So bright the tear in Beauty's eye,
Love half regrets to kiss it dry.