Lord Byron on Change
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βI am not now That which I have been.β
βShrine of the mighty! can it be, That this is all remains of thee?β
βAnd one by one in turn, some grand mistake Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.β
βFull from the fount of Joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.β
βHow chang'd since last her speaking eye Glanc'd gladness round the glitt'ring room, Where high-born men were proud to waitβ Where Beauty watched to imitate.β