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Title: To the Sighing Strephon
Author: Lord Byron [
More Titles by Byron]
1.
Your pardon, my friend,
If my rhymes did offend,
Your pardon, a thousand times o'er;
From friendship I strove,
Your pangs to remove,
But, I swear, I will do so no more.
2.
Since your _beautiful_ maid,
Your flame has repaid,
No more I your folly regret;
She's now most divine,
And I bow at the shrine,
Of this quickly reformed coquette.
3.
Yet still, I must own, [i]
I should never have known,
From _your verses_, what else she deserv'd;
Your pain seem'd so great,
I pitied your fate,
As your fair was so dev'lish reserv'd.
4.
Since the balm-breathing kiss [ii]
Of this magical Miss,
Can such wonderful transports produce; [iii]
Since the _"world you forget,
When your lips once have met,"_
My counsel will get but abuse.
5.
You say, "When I rove,"
"I know nothing of love;"
Tis true, I am given to range;
If I rightly remember,
_I've lov'd_ a good number; [iv]
Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change.
6.
I will not advance, [v]
By the rules of romance,
To humour a whimsical fair;
Though a smile may delight,
Yet a _frown_ will _affright,_ [vi]
Or drive me to dreadful despair.
7.
While my blood is thus warm,
I ne'er shall reform,
To mix in the Platonists' school;
Of this I am sure,
Was my Passion so pure,
Thy _Mistress_ would think me a fool. [vii]
8 [viii]
And if I should shun,
Every _woman_ for _one,_
Whose _image_ must fill my whole breast;
Whom I must _prefer,_
And _sigh_ but for _her,_
What an _insult_ 'twould be to the _rest!_
9.
Now Strephon, good-bye;
I cannot deny,
Your _passion_ appears most _absurd;_
Such _love_ as you plead,
Is _pure_ love, indeed,
For it _only_ consists in the _word_.
[Footnote 1: The letters "J. M. B. P." are added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of 'P. on V. Occasions', p. 17 (British Museum).]
[Footnote i: 'But still'.
[Footnote ii: 'But since the chaste kiss.'
[Footnote iii: 'Such wonderful.'
[Footnote iv:
'I've kiss'd a good number.
But-----'
[Footnote v:
'I ne'er will advance.'
[Footnote vi:
'Yet a frown won't affright.'
[Footnote vii:
'My mistress must think me.'
[Footnote viii:
'Though the kisses are sweet,
Which voluptuously meet,
Of kissing I ne'er was so fond,
As to make me forget,
Though our lips oft have met,
That still there was something beyond.'
-THE END-
Lord Byron's poem: To the Sighing Strephon
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