Note 45 — LORD BYRON: (continued 3)
Reading edition
"Oh Love! what is it, in this world of ours, Which makes it fatal to be loved? ah! why With cypress branches hast thou wreath'd thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh? As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, And place them on their breasts—but place to die.— Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish Are laid within our bosoms but to perish."