Damaetas

In law an infant, and in years a boy,
In mind a slave to every vicious joy;
From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd;
In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;
Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child;
Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;
Women his dupe, his heedless friend a tool;
Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school;
Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,
And found the goal when others just begin:
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl;
But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain,
And what was once his bliss appears his bane.

George Gordon, Lord Byron



Amo a Byron y un día fui a llorar sobre su tumba. Planté un pequeño árbol lo más cerca que pude de la lápida.

Luego me enteré de que esa era la tumba de su hermana pero, igualmente, era uno de los rincones favoritos del poeta.

La tumba era falsa, mis lágrimas no. Hoy casi no recuerdo porqué lloraba.

PD- He encontrado unos poemas en un libro de Byron que alguien escribió supongo que para mí. No traen firma, no recuerdo quién me los dió. Es muy triste ¿verdad?