O talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our
glory;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so
plenty.
What are garlands and crowns to the brow that
is wrinkled?
'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled:
Then away with all such from the head that
is hoary—
What care I for the wreaths that can only
give glory?
O Fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding
phrases,
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one
discover
She thought that I was not unworthy to love
her.
There chiefly I sought thee, there only I
found thee;
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround
thee;
When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright
in my story,
I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.
All for Love - written by Lord Byron
Narrated by Jordan Harling
