Explore "Imitated from Catullus, to Ellen" by Lord Byron on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire, / A million scarce would quench desire: / Still would I steep my lips in bliss, / And dwell an age on every kiss; / Nor then my soul should sated be, / Still would I kiss and cling to thee: / Nought should my kiss from thine dissever; / Still would we kiss, and kiss for ever, / E'en though the numbers did exceed / The yellow harvest's countless seed.
To part would be a vain endeavor: / Could I desist? -ah! never-never!