Explore "To M-" by Lord Byron on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire, / With bright, but mild affection shine: / Though they might kindle less desire, / Love, more than mortal, would be thine.
For thou art form'd so heavenly fair, / Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam, / We must admire, but still despair; / That fatal glance forbids esteem.
When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth, / So much perfection in thee shone, / She fear'd that, too divine for earth, / The skies might claim thee for their own.
Therefore, to guard her dearest work, / Lest angels might dispute the prize, / She bade a secret lightning lurk, / Within those once celestial eyes.
These might the boldest Sylph appall, / When gleaming with meridian blaze; / Thy beauty must enrapture all; / But who can dare thine ardent gaze?
'Tis said that Berenice's hair, / In stars adorns the vault of heaven; / But they would ne'er permit thee there, / Who wouldst so far outshine the seven.
For did those eyes as planets roll, / Thy sister-lights would scarce appear: / E'en suns, which systems now control, / Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.