Fear Of Flying

Alas! the love of women! it is known

To be a lovely and a fearful thing;

For all of theirs upon that die is thrown,

And if ’tis lost, life hath no more to bring

To them but mockeries of the past alone,

And their revenge is as the tiger’s spring,

Deadly, and quick, and crushing; yet, as real

Torture is theirs-what they inflict they feel.

They are right; for man, to man so oft unjust,

Is always so to women; one sole bond

Awaits them-treachery is all their trust;

Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond

Over their idol, till some wealthier lust

Buys them in marriage-and what rests beyond?

A thankless husband-next, a faithless lover-

Then dressing, nursing, praying-and all’s over.

Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers,

Some mind their household, others dissipation,

Some run away, and but exchange their cares,

Losing the advantage of a virtuous station;

Few changes e’er can better their affairs,

Theirs being an unnatural situation,

From the dull palace to the dirty hovel:

Some play the devil, and then write a novel.

– Lord Byron (from Don Juan)