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
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