Notes About The Poem
A sonnet written as if George Gordon, Lord Byron had never experienced love's tumultuous peaks and valleys as a famed poet and instead had lived and died only as a lifelong bachelor English aristocrat...
George Gordon, Lord Byron's Unlikely Lament
I longed for a love pure like driven snow,
untouched and vestal in the spring years to come;
the years came, and were gone until my woe
over love now lost filled my present autumn.
Virgin, and never a princess have I met,
or rustic maid with whom to spend a night;
I dwelled in solitude with great regret,
for Eros and young love were not my right.
Still young and fresh, and naïve and innocent,
stained by concupiscence ever the least,
I cast'd aside my youth's indecent bent;
and lived my life as if I were a priest.
Now old and bootless, without lust's searing fire,
I've never pierced the tunnel of desire.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
