Explore "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" by Lord Byron on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Not in those climes where I have late been straying, / Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deemed, / Not in those visions to the heart displaying / Forms which it sighs but to have only dreamed, / Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seemed: / Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek / To paint those charms which varied as they beamed- / To such as see thee not my words were weak; / To those who gaze on thee, what language could they speak?
Ah! mayst thou ever be what now thou art, / Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring, / As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart, / Love's image upon earth without his wing, / And guileless beyond Hope's imagining!