Love`s Last Adieu

Autorem wiersza jest Lord George Byron

The roses of Love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtur`d `mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
Or prunes them for ever, in Love`s last adieu!

In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or Death disunite us, in Love`s last adieu!

Still Hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast,
Will whisper, łOur meeting we yet may renew:˛
With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow`s represt,
Nor taste we the poison, of Love`s last adieu!

Oh! mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth,
Love twin`d round their childhood his flow`rs as they grew;
They flourish awhile, in the season of truth,
Till chill`d by the winter of Love`s last adieu!

Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way,
Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue?
Yet why do I ask? - to distraction a prey,
Thy reason has perish`d, with Love`s last adieu!

Oh! who is yon Misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew:
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate Love`s last adieu!

Now Hate rules a heart which in Love`s easy chains,
Once Passion`s tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins,
He ponders, in frenzy, on Love`s last adieu!

How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of Love`s last adieu!

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o`ercast;
No more, with Love`s former devotion, we sue:
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;
The shroud of affection is Love`s last adieu!

In this life of probation, for rapture divine,
Astrea declares that some penance is due;
From him, who has worshipp`d at Love`s gentle shrine,
The atonement is ample, in Love`s last adieu!

Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light
Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight,
His cypress, the garland of Love`s last adieu!


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