Lord Byron (1788–1824). Poetry of Byron. 1881.
I. Personal, Lyric, and ElegiacMaid of Athens
M
Give, oh, give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go,
[Greek]
Woo’d by each Ægean wind; By those lids whose jetty fringe Kiss thy soft cheeks’ blooming tinge; By those wild eyes like the roe, [Greek] By that zone-encircled waist; By all the token-flowers that tell What words can never speak so well; By love’s alternate joy and woe, [Greek] Think of me, sweet! when alone. Though I fly to Istambol, Athens holds my heart and soul: Can I cease to love thee? No! [Greek]