In one who felt as once he felt <br />This might, perhaps, have fann'd the flame; <br />But now his heart no more will melt, <br />Because that heart is not the same. <br /> <br />As when the ebbing flames are low, <br />The aid which once improved their light, <br />And bade them burn with fiercer glow, <br />Now quenches all their blaze in night. <br /> <br />Thus has it been with passion's fires- <br />As many a boy and girl remembers <br />While every hope of love expires, <br />Extinguish'd with the dying embers. <br /> <br />The first, though not a spark survive, <br />Some careful hand may teach to barn; <br />The last, alas l can ne'er survive; <br />No touch can bid its warmth reform <br /> <br />Or, if it chance to wake again. <br />Not always doom 'd its heat to smother, <br />It sheds (so wayward fates ordain) <br />Its former warmth around another.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-finding-a-fan/
