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My Dearest Theresa, I have read this book in your garden, my love, you were absent, or else I could not have read it. It is a favourite book of mine… - Lord Byron
" "My Dearest Theresa,
I have read this book in your garden, my love, you were absent, or else I could not have read it. It is a favourite book of mine. You will not understand these English words, and others will not understand them, which is the reason I have not scrawled them in Italian. But you will recognize the handwriting of him who passionately loved you, and you will divine that, over a book that was yours, he could only think of love.
In that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours, Amor mio, is comprised my existence here and thereafter. I feel I exist here, and I feel that I shall exist hereafter – to what purpose you will decide; my destiny rests with you, and you are a woman, eighteen years of age, and two out of a convent, I wish you had stayed there, with all my heart, or at least, that I had never met you in your married state.
But all this is too late. I love you, and you love me, at least, you say so, and act as if you did so, which last is a great consolation in all events. But I more than love you, and cannot cease to love you. Think of me, sometimes, when the Alps and ocean divide us, but they never will, unless you wish it.
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About Lord Byron
George Gordon (Noel) Byron, 6th Baron Byron (January 22 1788 – April 19 1824), generally known as Lord Byron, was an English poet and leading figure in Romanticism. He was the father of the mathematician Ada Lovelace.
Biography information from Wikiquote
Also Known As
Birth Name:
George Gordon Byron
Alternative Names:
George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron
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Noel Byron
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George Gordon Byron Lord
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George Gordon Byron, 6th Lord Byron
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Additional quotes by Lord Byron
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
As tragédias terminam com a morte, (All tragedies are finished by a death,)
E as comédias terminam em casório; (All comedies are ended by a marriage.)
Depois, deixa-se o herói à própria sorte, (The future states of both are lefth to faith,)
Pois teme o autor dizer algo simplório (For authors fear description might disparage)
Sobre o Além-vida, ou sobre os dois consortes, (The worlds to come of both, of fall beneath)
E que o chamem de herege, ou de finório; (And then both worlds would punish their miscarriage)
Deixando a cada um o seu mister, (So leaving each their priest and prayer book ready,)
Nada dizem da morte, ou da mulher. (They say no more of death or of the lady)
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