(3)
Although he died of - let’s call it chronic
It’s hard not to admire Lord Byron.
His heroes of lusting non-rusting iron,
His heroines either angel or siren.
Yet women write their protagonists Byronic
Which if you think of it is pretty ironic.
(4)
Take the youngest of the Brontë sisters:
What with her writing literally on the wall,
Covering her consumptive fingers in blisters
(Must’ve been hard - she was not very tall;
It’s a wonder she wrote a novel at all).
Yet she’s put out the byronicest of misters
Poor Heathcliff, caught in plots full of twisters.
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