If, in the month of dark December, <br /> Leander, who was nightly wont <br />(What maid will not the tale remember?) <br /> To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont! <br /> <br />If, when the wintry tempest roar'd, <br /> He sped to Hero, nothing loth, <br />And thus of old thy current pour'd, <br /> Fair Venus! how I pity both! <br /> <br />For me, degenerate modern wretch, <br /> Though in the genial month of May, <br />My dripping limbs I faintly stretch, <br /> And think I've done a feat today. <br /> <br />But since he cross'd the rapid tide, <br /> According to the doubtful story, <br />To woo, -- and -- Lord knows what beside, <br /> And swam for Love, as I for Glory; <br /> <br />'Twere hard to say who fared the best: <br /> Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you! <br />He lost his labour, I my jest; <br /> For he was drown'd, and I've the ague.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/written-after-swimming-from-sestos-to-abydos-2/
