This is a poem given to me a few years ago from my Andy--it is by Scotsman Lord George Gordon Byron --Stanzas Written on the Road Between Floence and Pisa - Oh talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two and twenty. Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. WHAT are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? Tis but as a dead flower with May dew despeckled: Then away with all such from the head that is hoary! What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? Oh fame-if I eer took delight in thy praises, Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases. Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover -she thought that I was not unworthy to love her. There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled oer aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory .
Posted on: Fri, 01 Nov 2013 19:27:39 +0000
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