Poem of the Day: George Gordon, Lord Byron

Written After Swimming From Sestos to Abydos 

1 

If, in the month of dark December, 

     Leander, who was nightly wont 

(What maid will not the tale remember?) 

     To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont!

2 

If, when the wintry tempest roared, 

     He sped to Hero, nothing loath, 

And thus of old thy current poured, 

     Fair Venus! how I pity both!

3

For me, degenerate modern wretch, 

     Though in the genial month of May, 

My dripping limbs I faintly stretch, 

     And think I've done a feat today.

4 

But since he crossed the rapid tide, 

     According to the doubtful story, 

To woo -- and -- Lord knows what beside, 

     And swam for Love, as I for Glory; 

5

'Twere hard to say who fared the best:
     Sad mortals! thus the gods still plague you!

He lost his labor, I my jest; 

     For he was drowned, and I've the ague.

--George Gordon, Lord Byron

Byron may have been the first postmodern poet: the first to achieve self-glorification through ironic self-deprecation.