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Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/82

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42
HOURS OF IDLENESS.

4.

'Tis I that am alone to blame,
I that am guilty of love's treason;
Since your sweet breast is still the same,
Caprice must be my only reason.


5.

I do not, love! suspect your truth,
With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;
Warm was the passion of my youth,
One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.


6.

No, no, my flame was not pretended;
For, oh! I lov'd you most sincerely;
And though our dream at last is ended
My bosom still esteems you dearly.


7.

No more we meet in yonder bowers;
Absence has made me prone to roving;[1]
But older, firmer hearts than ours
Have found monotony in loving.


8.

Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd,
New beauties, still, are daily bright'ning,
Your eye, for conquest beams prepar'd,[2]
The forge of love's resistless lightning.


  1. Perhaps my soul's too pure for roving.—[4to]
  2. Your eye for conquest comes prepar'd.—[4to]