Love and Death

Love and Death

By Lord Byron (George Gordon Byron)

I watched thee when the foe was at our side,
Ready to strike at him—or thee and me,
Were safety hopeless—rather than divide
Aught with one loved save love and liberty.

I watched thee on the breakers, when the rock
Received our prow, and all was storm and fear,
And bade thee cling to me through every shock;
This arm would be thy bark, or breast thy bier.

I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes,
Yielding my couch and stretched me on the ground
When overworn with watching, ne’er to rise
From thence if thou an early grave hadst found.

The earthquake came, and rocked the quivering wall,
And men and nature reeled as if with wine.
Whom did I seek around the tottering hall?
For thee. Whose safety first provide for? Thine.

5.

And when convulsive throes denied my breath
The faintest utterance to my fading thought,
To thee—to thee—e’en in the gasp of death
My spirit turned, oh! oftener than it ought.

Thus much and more; and yet thou lov’st me not,
And never wilt! Love dwells not in our will.
Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot
To strongly, wrongly, vainly love thee still.

About the Poem

There is something profoundly moving about Byron’s portrayal of unrequited love in this poem. The speaker recalls moments of danger, illness, disaster, and even death itself, and in every circumstance his thoughts turn toward the beloved. Love is revealed not as a fleeting emotion but as a steadfast devotion that persists through fear, sacrifice, and suffering.

What strikes me most is the poem’s ending. After all that devotion, the beloved does not return the speaker’s feelings. Yet there is no bitterness here. Instead, there is a painful acceptance: “Love dwells not in our will.” We do not choose whom we love, nor can we force another person to love us in return. The speaker recognizes this truth even as he continues to love “strongly, wrongly, vainly.”

During Pride Month, this poem resonates in a particular way. Many LGBTQ+ people know what it means to love without certainty of being loved back, whether because of social expectations, fear, distance, or circumstance. Byron’s poem reminds us that love itself is not shameful, even when it is unreturned. The courage to love honestly remains a beautiful thing, regardless of the outcome.

“Love and Death” was written by Lord Byron, one of the leading figures of the Romantic movement. The poem explores themes of devotion, sacrifice, mortality, and unrequited love. Through a series of dramatic scenes—war, shipwreck, illness, earthquake, and death—the speaker demonstrates the depth of his attachment to another person. The final stanza shifts from heroic devotion to heartbreak, revealing that the beloved does not share the speaker’s feelings.

The poem is often included in discussions of Byron’s love poetry because of its emotional intensity and its recognition that love exists beyond conscious choice or control.

About the Poet

Lord Byron (1788–1824), born George Gordon Byron, was one of the most influential poets of the Romantic era. Known for works such as Don Juan, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, and numerous lyric poems, Byron cultivated a reputation as both a literary genius and a scandalous public figure.

Modern readers often recognize Byron as a significant queer historical figure. His letters and journals reveal romantic and sexual relationships with both men and women, though such aspects of his life had to remain largely hidden in the society of his time. His poetry frequently explores themes of longing, desire, passion, and emotional conflict, making his work particularly resonant during Pride Month and in conversations about the history of LGBTQ+ lives and literature.


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Summer, Vermont Style

It’s Monday again, and a new work week begins.

Yesterday was the first day of summer, but you’d never know it here in Vermont. Once again, rain is in the forecast, although at the moment it looks like most of it will hold off until overnight. Even so, we’re expecting a cloudy day with a high of only 71 degrees.

Back in Alabama, it’s a very different story. In Montgomery, today’s low is 73 degrees, which is actually warmer than our expected high here in Vermont, and temperatures are forecast to reach 91 degrees. I’m very glad I’m not in Alabama. I’ve never enjoyed hot weather, and getting overheated and sweaty outdoors is one of the things that can trigger a migraine for me.

Curiously, exercise doesn’t seem to have the same effect. If I get hot and sweaty during a workout or spend time in a sauna, I’m usually fine. There’s just something about oppressive summer heat and humidity that my body doesn’t appreciate.

So while Vermont may not offer an abundance of sunshine, especially compared to other parts of the country, I’ll happily take cool temperatures, cloudy skies, and the occasional rainy day over Alabama’s summer heat. For me, it’s one of the many reasons I’m grateful to call Vermont home.


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More Than Blood

“So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God.”

— Ephesians 2:19


“But Ruth said, ‘Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die—there will I be buried.’”

 Ruth 1:16-17


“And he replied, ‘Who are my mother and my brothers?’ And looking at those who sat around him, he said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”

—Mark 3:33-35

Today is Father’s Day, a day that brings joy to many and complicated emotions to others. Some people celebrate fathers who loved and supported them unconditionally. Others carry grief, distance, disappointment, or loss. Family relationships are often beautiful, but they can also be difficult.

For many LGBTQ+ people, the idea of family extends beyond blood relations. Some of us have been blessed with accepting parents, siblings, and relatives. Others have had to seek love and support elsewhere. Along the way, we find friends who become siblings, mentors who become parental figures, and communities that become home. We build what is often called a chosen family.

The beautiful truth is that chosen family is not a modern invention. It is woven throughout Scripture.

When Ruth pledged herself to Naomi, she was choosing a relationship that went beyond obligation. Her words remain some of the most moving expressions of devotion ever written: “Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge.” It is no surprise that many couples, including LGBTQ+ couples, have found these words meaningful enough to include in their wedding vows. Ruth’s promise reminds us that family can be formed through love, commitment, and faithfulness.

Jesus expanded this understanding even further. When told that his biological family was looking for him, he pointed to those gathered around him and declared that whoever does the will of God is his family. He was not rejecting his relatives; he was enlarging the definition of family itself. In God’s kingdom, belonging is not determined by bloodlines but by love and relationship.

Paul echoes this in Ephesians, reminding us that we are all members of God’s household. We are not strangers. We are not outsiders. We belong.

During Pride Month, this message carries special significance. Many LGBTQ+ people know what it means to search for belonging. Yet the Gospel tells us that God has already claimed us as members of the divine family. We are welcomed into a household where there is room for everyone, where love is stronger than exclusion, and where no one is left standing outside the door.

Whether your family is the one you were born into, the one you found along the way, or some combination of both, give thanks today for those people who have loved you, supported you, and walked beside you. They are reminders of the family God creates—a family built not merely on blood, but on grace, faith, and love.


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Moment of Zen: Waterfalls

I’ve always loved waterfalls. There’s something calming about watching water tumble over the rocks, and on a sunny day, the mist often catches the light and creates a rainbow. During Pride Month especially, those rainbows feel like a fitting reminder that beauty, hope, and joy can emerge from even the most turbulent waters.


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Ten Years Ago

Beautiful Cat, Horrible Haircut (but the rest is nice)

Yesterday was Isabella’s Adoption Day, and somehow I forgot.

In my defense, my mind hasn’t exactly been firing on all cylinders lately. Between migraines, work, and worrying about Isabella’s recent health issues, June 18 slipped by without me realizing what day it was. It wasn’t until later that I remembered: yesterday marked ten years since I adopted Isabella.

Ten years ago, I walked into the local humane society and met a tiny black kitten they had named Bridget. She was frightened, hiding under a chair, and uncertain about the strange world around her. I knew almost immediately that Bridget wasn’t her name. My cats have always been named after queens. Victoria had already held that title in my life, and Elizabeth was out because that’s my sister’s name. But Isabella—Queen Isabella—seemed fitting. Regal. Strong. Memorable.

What I didn’t know then was how important Isabella would become.

When I adopted her in June of 2016, I was still trying to find my footing in Vermont. I had moved 1,200 miles from home, and the year before had been one of the most difficult of my life. I was grieving the loss of a dear friend and struggling with loneliness in a place that still felt unfamiliar. Isabella arrived at exactly the right moment.

She was timid at first. She hid under the bed, cried when I left the room, and seemed convinced that everything in the apartment was out to get her. But little by little, she grew more confident. Soon she was exploring every corner of the apartment and making herself completely at home.

Unlike some cats, Isabella is not especially vocal. Most of the time, she communicates without making a sound at all. She has a look for when she wants something. A look for when she’s annoyed. A look for when she’s judging me. She quietly meows in the mornings when it’s time for breakfast, becomes quite vocal when I return from a trip and she wants to tell me everything I’ve missed, and will call out if she can hear me but can’t see me on the other side of a door. The rest of the time, she somehow manages to make her wishes known without saying a word.

Over the years, Isabella has been my constant companion. She has greeted me when I came home from work, curled up beside me when I wasn’t feeling well, and kept me company through moments of joy and moments of heartbreak. She has been the steady presence waiting for me at the end of each day.

Lately, I’ve been reminded just how much she means to me. Her asthma diagnosis and recent cardiac testing have been a source of worry. Watching her struggle to breathe during an asthma attack was frightening, and waiting for answers has not been easy. The good news is that she has not had an asthma attack in several days, which gives me hope that the medication is helping. We still have an echocardiogram ahead of us, but for now I am grateful for every quiet day when she seems comfortable and content.

Today, Isabella is ten years older than the tiny kitten I brought home from the shelter. She’s still stubborn. She’s still opinionated. She’s still the queen of this castle. And despite all the gray hairs she’s probably responsible for giving me, I wouldn’t trade a single day with her.

Ten years ago, I thought I was rescuing a frightened little kitten.

The truth is that she rescued me too.

Happy Belated Adoption Day, Isabella. Thank you for ten wonderful years.


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