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Friendship is love without his wings in bronze

Bronze Friendship

L'amitié, est l'amour sans aile { Friendship is love without his wings }

This pendant is handcrafted from the impression of an 1820’s French wax seal, based on the Poem of the same name penned by Lord Byron, December 29, 1806.

Materials: Bronze Pendant & Sterling Silver Jumpring

Size: 1/2" x 5/8" (13mm x 15mm)

See photo 5, to see the silver version with the meaning card that will come with it.

Each Plum and Posey wax seal design arrives accompanied by it's own meaning card, and tucked into an elegant jewelry bag ready for gift giving.

About Bronze

Bronze jewelry has a warm luster and a lovely rich antique gold color. Over time it will form a dark patina, this gives each piece its own individual, organic, and antiqued finish. If you prefer you can always bring back its original shiny finish with a jewelry polishing cloth.

PLEASE NOTE: Before you order please check sizing information - it can be hard to gauge jewelry sizes from pictures alone. On some of the seal pieces the text is so small as to be read only with a magnifying glass making the meaning a secret between you and those you choose to tell.

Availability and shipping

Your purchase will ship in 3-5 business days. Once shipped, please allow a minimum of 3 weeks to receive your order

<Full Poem>

"L'amitié, est l'amour sans ailes" ~ Lord Byron 1806

Why should my anxious breast repine,

Because my youth is fled?

Days of delight may still be mine;

Affection is not dead.

In tracing back the years of youth,

One firm record, one lasting truth

Celestial consolation brings;

Bear it, ye breezes, to the seat,

Where first my heart responsive beat,--

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"


Through few, but deeply chequer'd years,

What moments have been mine!

Now half obscured by clouds of tears,

Now bright in rays divine;

Howe'er my future doom be cast,

My soul, enraptured with the past,

To one idea fondly clings;

Friendship! that thought is all thine own,

Worth worlds of bliss, that thought alone

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"


Where yonder yew-trees lightly wave

Their branches on the gale,

Unheeded heaves a simple grave,

Which tells the common tale;

Round this unconscious schoolboys stray,

Till the dull knell of childish play

From yonder studious mansion rings;

But here, whene'er my footsteps move,

My silent tears too plainly prove,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"


Oh, Love! before thy glowing shrine,

My early vows were paid;

My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine,

But these are now decay'd;

For thine are pinions like the wind,

No trace of thee remains behind,

Except, alas! thy jealous stings.

Away, away! delusive power,

Thou shall not haunt my coming hour;

Unless, indeed, without thy wings.


Seat of my youth! thy distant spire

Recalls each scene of joy;

My bosom glows with former fire,--

In mind again a boy.

Thy grove of elms, thy verdant hill,

Thy every path delights me still,

Each flower a double fragrance flings;

Again, as once, in converse gay,

Each dear associate seems to say,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!'


My Lycus! wherefore dost thou weep?

Thy falling tears restrain;

Affection for a time may sleep,

But, oh, 'twill wake again.

Think, think, my friend, when next we meet,

Our long-wished interview, how sweet!

From this my hope of rapture springs;

While youthful hearts thus fondly swell,

Absence my friend, can only tell,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"


In one, and one alone deceiv'd,

Did I my error mourn?

No--from oppressive bonds reliev'd,

I left the wretch to scorn.

I turn'd to those my childhood knew,

With feelings warm, with bosoms true,

Twin'd with my heart's according strings;

And till those vital chords shall break,

For none but these my breast shall wake

Friendship, the power deprived of wings!


Ye few! my soul, my life is yours,

My memory and my hope;

Your worth a lasting love insures,

Unfetter'd in its scope;

From smooth deceit and terror sprung,

With aspect fair and honey'd tongue,

Let Adulation wait on kings;

With joy elate, by snares beset,

We, we, my friends, can ne'er forget,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"


Fictions and dreams inspire the bard,

Who rolls the epic song;

Friendship and truth be my reward--

To me no bays belong;

If laurell'd Fame but dwells with lies,

Me the enchantress ever flies,

Whose heart and not whose fancy sings;

Simple and young, I dare not feign;

Mine be the rude yet heartfelt strain,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

December 29, 1806.


Lord Byron's poem: L'Amitie est L'Amour sans Ailes

113 - Friendship