George Gordon Noel Byron

Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honour'd race.

Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honour'd race.

Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were.

Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were.

"Yet doth he live!" exclaims th' impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.

"Yet doth he live!" exclaims th' impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.

Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No,"
And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
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Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No,"
And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow,
Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.

'Tis enough--
Who listens once will listen twice;
Her heart be sure is not of ice,
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'Tis enough--
Who listens once will listen twice;
Her heart be sure is not of ice,
And one refusal no rebuff.