The Works of Lord Byron, Vol. 1 (To Mary) Lord Byron

To Mary,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE[1]

1.          This faint resemblance of thy charms,
         (Though strong as mortal art could give,)
         My constant heart of fear disarms,
         Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

2.          Here, I can trace the locks of gold
         Which round thy snowy forehead wave;
         The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould,
         The lips, which made me 'Beauty's' slave.

3.          Here I can trace—ah, no! that eye,
         Whose azure floats in liquid fire,
         Must all the painter's art defy,
         And bid him from the task retire.

4.          Here, I behold its beauteous hue;
         But where's the beam so sweetly straying, [i.]
         Which gave a lustre to its blue,
         Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

5.          Sweet copy! far more dear to me,
         Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
         Than all the living forms could be,
         Save her who plac'd thee next my heart.