To George Gordon Byron

Oh, youth’s sweet vision, wielder of spring's charms Whose power is the grandeur of your tongue Embracer of love’s form, your gentle arms Enwrap my pith with sacred words. Sweet song Shall always spill from out your polished lips And carry forth rich words like some stream’s ebb Into a distant ocean, whose heart skips With your unearthly music. In the web Of your strong inspiration, many bards Of many passéd years of time’s expanse Have twined themselves to keep within their hearts All of the passions of your utterance! Oh, were it not for your compassion, sweet The might of speech shall be left incomplete! © 2013 Gleb Zavlanov