Alas, in the end, when either sex cannot fulfill the other, if Byron
lived longer than his brief 36 years, I fancy he would've come to the
realization that it was his own independent creative genius that
served as his invulnerable nexus to the mansions of life. The
disillusionment and heartache of finding a lofty fulfillment in
romantic love with beautiful women, incomplete and prejudiced in
themselves, I think would've compelled him to yield this passion to
the acceptance that only life can fulfill. He would've recognized
that life alone makes a complete mistress, infinite, rich and
mysterious, without exerting any particular demands or expectancy to
limit a man's imagination, his perspective or practice.
It's with this recognition that I wrote a fanciful Byron poem
in "ottava rima", the flexible stanza type he employed in Don Juan,
that dramatizes this enlightenment. It's a depiction of his ghost or
latter day resurrection lamenting. I believe I've captured the voice,
wit and intensity of Byron in this poem now posted on a French poetry
web-site (compliments of Keyvan Sayar) that makes a stimulating read.
The poem's in English.
The web address is: http://lesdoigtsbleus.tripod.com/id141.htm