Don Juan 06-066 ~ 070
 
 
Don Juan 06-066
Canto the Sixth
 
     LXVI
 
One with her flush'd cheek laid on her white arm,
     And raven ringlets gather'd in dark crowd
Above her brow, lay dreaming soft and warm;
     And smiling through her dream, as through a cloud
The moon breaks, half unveil'd each further charm,
     As, slightly stirring in her snowy shroud,
Her beauties seized the unconscious hour of night
All bashfully to struggle into light.
 
 
Don Juan 06-067
Canto the Sixth
 
     LXVII
 
This is no bull, although it sounds so; for
     'T was night, but there were lamps, as hath been said.
A third's all pallid aspect offer'd more
     The traits of sleeping sorrow, and betray'd
Through the heaved breast the dream of some far shore
     Beloved and deplored; while slowly stray'd
(As night-dew, on a cypress glittering, tinges
The black bough) tear-drops through her eyes' dark fringes.
 
 
Don Juan 06-068
Canto the Sixth
 
     LXVIII
 
A fourth as marble, statue-like and still,
     Lay in a breathless, hush'd, and stony sleep;
White, cold, and pure, as looks a frozen rill,
     Or the snow minaret on an Alpine steep,
Or Lot's wife done in salt, -- or what you will; --
     My similes are gather'd in a heap,
So pick and choose -- perhaps you'll be content
With a carved lady on a monument.
 
 
Don Juan 06-069
Canto the Sixth
 
     LXIX
 
And lo! a fifth appears; -- and what is she?
     A lady of a "certain age," which means
Certainly aged -- what her years might be
     I know not, never counting past their teens;
But there she slept, not quite so fair to see,
     As ere that awful period intervenes
Which lays both men and women on the shelf,
To meditate upon their sins and self.
 
 
Don Juan 06-070
Canto the Sixth
 
     LXX
 
But all this time how slept, or dream'd, Dudu?
     With strict inquiry I could ne'er discover,
And scorn to add a syllable untrue;
     But ere the middle watch was hardly over,
Just when the fading lamps waned dim and blue,
     And phantoms hover'd, or might seem to hover,
To those who like their company, about
The apartment, on a sudden she scream'd out:
     
George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron (1788-1824)
ByronLong