Explore "Sonnet, to the same (Genevra)" by Lord Byron on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe, / And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush / Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush, / My heart would wish away that ruder glow: / And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes - but, oh! / While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush, / And into mine my mother's weakness rush, / Soft as the last drops round heaven's airy bow.
For, through thy long dark lashes low depending, / The soul of melancholy Gentleness / Gleams like a seraph from the sky descending, / Above all pain, yet pitying all distress; / At once such majesty with sweetness blending, / I worship more, but cannot love thee less.