By George Gordon, Lord Byron
Date: 18 April 1999

By Any Ties But Those Divine

Whene'er I view those lips of thine,
Their hue invites my fervent kiss;
Yet I forego that bliss divine,
Alas! it were unhallow'd bliss.

Whene'er I dream of that pure breast,
How could I dwell upon it's snows!
Yet is the daring wish represt,
For that - would banish its repose.

A glance from thy soul-searching eye
Can raise with hope, depress with fear;
Yet I conceal my love - and why?
I would not force a painful tear.

I ne'er have told my love, yet thou
Hast seen my ardent flame too well;
And shall I plead my passion now,
To make thy pure heart's heaven a hell?

No! For thou never canst be mine,
United by the priest's decree:
By any ties but those divine,
Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shall be.

Then let the secret fire consume,
Let it consume, and none shall know:
With joy I court a certain doom,
Rather than spread its guilty glow.

I will not ease my tortured heart
By driving dove-eyed peace from thine;
Rather than such a sting impart,
Each thought presumptuous I resign.

Yes! yield those lips for which I'd brave
More than I here shall dare to tell:
Thy innocence and mine to save,
We dare not meet, or tis farewell.

Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair,
And hope no more thy soft embrace:
Which to obtain my soul would dare
All, all reproach, but thy disgrace.

At least from guilt shalt thou be free,
No matron shall thy shame reprove:
Though cureless pangs may prey on me,
No martyr shalt thou be to love.