To Lesbia by Lord Byron

Lesbia! since far from you I've ranged, / Our souls with fond affection glow not; / You say 'tis I, not you, have changed, / I'd tell you why,- but yet I know not.

Your polish'd brow no cares have crost; / And, Lesbia! we are not much older, / Since, trembling, first my heart I lost, / Or told my love, with hope grown bolder.

Sixteen was then our utmost age, / Two years have lingering past away, love! / And now new thoughts our minds engage, / At least I feel disposed to stray, love!

'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.

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.

No, no, my flame was not pretended, / For, Oh! I loved you most sincerely; / And- though our dream at last is ended – / My bosom still esteems you dearly.

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

Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpeair'd, / New beauties still are daily bright'ning, / Your eye for conquest beams prepared, / The forge of love's resistless lightning.

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed, / Many will throng to sigh like me, love! / More constant they may prove, indeed; / Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love!