<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396252" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To Mary, On Receiving Her Picture</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">This faint resemblance of thy charms,<br> (Though strong as mortal art could give,)<br>My constant heart of fear disarms,<br> Revives my hopes, and bids me live.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, I can trace the locks of gold<br> Which round thy snowy forehead wave;<br>The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould,<br> The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here I can trace---ah, no! that eye,<br> Whose azure floats in liquid fire,<br>Must all the painter's art defy,<br> And bid him from the task retire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, I behold its beauteous hue;<br> But where's the beam so sweetly straying,<br>Which gave a lustre to its blue,<br> Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet copy! far more dear to me,<br> Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,<br>Than all the living forms could be,<br> Save her who plac'd thee next my heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear,<br> Lest time might shake my wavering soul,<br>Unconscious that her image there<br> Held every sense in fast control.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 'twill cheer---<br> My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;<br>In life's last conflict 'twill appear,<br> And meet my fond, expiring gaze.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Byron">Byron</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396252" data-title="To Mary, On Receiving Her Picture de Byron" data-description="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. Here, I can trace the locks of gold Which round thy snowy forehead wave; The cheeks which sp..."></div> </div> </div>

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