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[personal profile] razothredfire
Oh! did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright, but mild affection shine:
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.

For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair;
That fatal glance forbids esteem.

When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone,
She fear'd that, too divine for earth,
The skies might claim thee for their own.

Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,
She bade a secret lightning lurk,
Within those once celestial eyes.

These might the boldest Sylph appall,
When gleaming with meridian blaze;
Thy beauty must enrapture all;
But who can dare thine ardent gaze?

'Tis said that Berenice's hair,
In stars adorns the vault of heaven;
But they would ne'er permit thee there,
Who wouldst so far outshine the seven.

For did those eyes as planets roll,
Thy sister-lights would scarce appear:
E'en suns, which systems now control,
Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.
~Lord Byron

Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,
My heart would wish away that ruder glow:
And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes---but, oh!
While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,
And into mine my mother's weakness rush,
Soft as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow.
For, though thy long dark lashes low depending,
The soul of melancholy Gentleness
Gleams like a Seraph from the sky descending,
Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;
At once such majesty with sweetness blending,
I worship more, but cannot love thee less.
~Lord Byron

Between your sheets you soundly sleep
Nor dreams of vigils that we lovers keep
While all the night, I waking sign your name,
The tender sound does every nerve inflame,
Imagination shows me all your charms,
The plenteous silken hair, and waxen arms,
The well turned neck, and snowy rising breast
And all the beauties that supinely rest
between your sheets.
~Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

Date: 2009-02-16 03:20 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] slicensmile.livejournal.com
RUH ROH! Quoting poetry... Raz's got it baaaad! :D

They're quite beautiful, though. She bade a secret lightning lurk
within those once celestial eyes. Mmmm.

Date: 2009-02-16 04:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] arcaneamaranth.livejournal.com
Hehehehe. Sorry Raz. You're just so damn cute...and probably really enamoured and desperate for some yummy skin contact because goddamn, I'll say it again, he's a handsome guy ^___^

Makes me wonder in how many fun ways this will affect your role-playing-writing with Loony ^______~

Date: 2009-02-16 08:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] uranian-poet.livejournal.com
YES! I have to write a parody of a "classic poem" for my creative writing class (and by "classic poem", my creative writing teacher apparently means "real poem with meter and rhyme and all that good stuff"). I was awfully conflicted about whether to parody Wilde or Thoreau or Shakespeare, I didn't want one of them to think I loved them more than the other ones...but now I have a good excuse to do Byron!! :D

Oh, and you REALLY must give us more information about your current awesomeness besides post-hanging-out-happy-spazzing and love poetry. It's just too tantalizing!

Date: 2009-02-17 08:58 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] dea-caelesti.livejournal.com
I take it you're a Lord Byron fan then? The second has always been one of my favourites. Though, if you're going to do the stalker-dropping-off-poems-and-secretly- watching-as-he-reads-them-thing you may want to just pick one to start with. :)


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