Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

Lord George Gordon Byron

My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee,

And safely view thy ripening beauties shine:

Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline;

Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed

Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign

To those whose admiration shall succeed,

But mixed with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed.

Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the gazelle's,

Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,

Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells,

Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny