Explore "To Mary, on Receiving her Picture" by Lord Byron on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.
Here, I can trace the locks of gold / Which round thy snowy forehead wave; / The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould, / The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.