When I hear that you express an affection so warm, <br />Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe; <br />For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm, <br />And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive. <br /> <br />Yet, still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring, <br />That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear; <br />That age will come on, when remembrance, deploring, <br />Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a tear; <br /> <br />That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining <br />Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the breeze, <br />When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining <br />Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. <br /> <br />'Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my features, <br />Though I ne'er shall presume to arraign the decree, <br />Which God has proclaim'd as the fate of his creatures, <br />In the death which will one day deprive you of me. <br /> <br />Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion, <br />No doubt can the mind of your lover invade; <br />He worships each look with such faithful devotion, <br />A smile can enchant, or a tear can dissuade. <br /> <br />But as death, my beloved, soon or late shall o'ertake us, <br />And our breasts, which alive with such sympathy glow, <br />Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake us, <br />When calling the dead, in earth's bosom laid low,- <br /> <br />Oh! then let us drain, while we may, draughts of pleasure, <br />Which from passion like ours may unceasingly flow; <br />Let us pass round the cup of love's bliss in full measure, <br />And quaff the contents as our nectar below. <br /> <br />1805<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-caroline-when-i-hear-that-you-express-an-affection-so-warm/
