She was like me in lineaments-- her eyes. Her hair, her features, all, to the very tone. Even of her voice, they said were like to mine; But soften'd all, and temper'd into beauty; She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mind. To comprehend the universe: nor these. Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine, Pity, and smiles, and tears-- which I had not; And tenderness-- but that I had for her; Humility-- and that I never had. Her faults were mine-- her virtues were her own--I loved her, and destroy'd her!
George ByronAbout author
- Author's profession: Poet
- Nationality: scottish
- Born: January 22, 1788
- Died: April 19, 1824
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