Today I am turning to one of the great English romantic poets, the 6th Baron Byron - Lord Byron.
Byron's fame rests not only on his writings but also on his life, which featured extravagant living, numerous love affairs, debts, separation, and marital exploits.
At a ball in London during the period of the scandal over his divorce from Annabella Milbanke, the militant prude whom he had married in 1815 in a disastrous attempt to cure himself of his own emotional excesses, a woman fainted at the sight of him; another warned her daughter, ''Don't look at him, he is dangerous to look at.''
One-time lovers, like the louche Mrs. Wherry, cherished fetishistic mementos of his person -- including black curling locks of his pubic hair -- like magic talismans.
Byron liked to pass his poetry off as a lordly sideline -- as improvised, informal and unimportant in the larger scheme of things.
After he went into exile, he rapidly lost interest in the English literary world and would send poems back to his London publisher in idle moments, asking only that their receipt be acknowledged.
WHEN WE TWO PARTED
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow -
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell in mine ear;
A shudder come o'er me -
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well: -
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met -
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? -
With silence and tears.
Lord Byron
(References: Byron The Flawed Angel, by Phyllis Grosskurth.
and Wikipedia)
