The works of Lord Byron A new, revised and enlarged edition, with illustrations. Edited by Ernest Hartley Coleridge and R. E. Prothero |
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TO MARY,
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 | The works of Lord Byron |  |
32
TO MARY,
ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.
1
This faint resemblance of thy charms,(Though strong as mortal art could give,)
My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
2
Here, I can trace the locks of goldWhich round thy snowy forehead wave;
The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould,
The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.
3
Here I can trace—ah, no! that eye,Whose azure floats in liquid fire,
Must all the painter's art defy,
And bid him from the task retire.
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Here, I behold its beauteous hue;But where's the beam so sweetly straying,
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Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?
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Sweet copy! far more dear to me,Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
Than all the living forms could be,
Save her who plac'd thee next my heart.
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She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear,Lest time might shake my wavering soul,
Unconscious that her image there
Held every sense in fast controul.
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Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 'twill cheer—My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;
In life's last conflict 'twill appear,
And meet my fond, expiring gaze.
| The works of Lord Byron | |