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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To The Countess Of Blessington</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">You have ask'd for a verse:--the request<br>In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny;<br>But my Hippocrene was but my breast,<br>And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Were I now as I was, I had sung<br>What Lawrence has painted so well;<br>But the strain would expire on my tongue,<br>And the theme is too soft for my shell.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I am ashes where once I was fire,<br>And the bard in my bosom is dead;<br>What I loved I now merely admire, <br>And my heart is as grey as my head.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My life is not dated by years--<br>There are moments which act as plough;<br>And there is not a furrow appears<br>But is deep in my soul as my brow.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396258" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Let the young and the brilliant aspire<br>To sing what I gaze on in vain;<br>For sorrow has torn from my lyre<br>The string which was worthy the strain.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Byron">Byron</a></strong></div>