The Poetry Corner

To M. S. G.

By George Gordon Byron

1. Whene'er I view those lips of thine, Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were - unhallow'd bliss. 2. Whene'er I dream of that pure breast, How could I dwell upon its snows! Yet, is the daring wish represt, For that, - would banish its repose. 3. A glance from thy soul-searching eye Can raise with hope, depress with fear; Yet, I conceal my love, - and why? I would not force a painful tear. 4. I ne'er have told my love, yet thou Hast seen my ardent flame too well; And shall I plead my passion now, To make thy bosom's heaven a hell? 5. No! for thou never canst be mine, United by the priest's decree: By any ties but those divine, Mine, my belov'd, thou ne'er shalt be. 6. Then let the secret fire consume, Let it consume, thou shalt not know: With joy I court a certain doom, Rather than spread its guilty glow. 7. I will not ease my tortur'd heart, By driving dove-ey'd peace from thine; Rather than such a sting impart, Each thought presumptuous I resign. 8. Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave More than I here shall dare to tell; Thy innocence and mine to save, - I bid thee now a last farewell. 9. Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair And hope no more thy soft embrace; Which to obtain, my soul would dare, All, all reproach, but thy disgrace. 10. At least from guilt shall thou be free, No matron shall thy shame reprove; Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shall thou be to love.