Imitated from Catullus. To Ellen. by Lord Byron

Oh! might I kiss those eyes of fire,

A million scarce would quench desire;

Still would I steep my lips in bliss,

And dwell an age on every kiss;

Nor then my soul should sated be,

Still would I kiss and cling to thee:

Nought should my kiss from thine dissever,

Still would we kiss and kiss for ever;

E’en though the numbers did exceed

The yellow harvest’s countless seed;

To part would be a vain endeavour:

Could I desist?–ah! never–never.

November 16, 1806.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s