Poem by George Gordon Byron

* * *

And wilt thou weep when I am low? 
Sweet lady! speak those words again: 
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so – 
I would not give that bosom pain. 
 
My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, 
My blood runs coldly through my breast; 
And when I perish, thou alone 
Wilt sigh above my place of rest. 
 
And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace 
Doth through my cloud of anguish shine: 
And for a while my sorrows cease, 
To know thy heart hath felt for mine. 
 
Oh lady! blessd be that tear – 
It falls for one who cannot weep; 
Such precious drops are doubly dear 
To those whose eyes no tear may steep. 
 
Sweet lady! once my heart was warm 
With every feeling soft as thine; 
But Beauty’s self hath ceased to charm 
A wretch created to repine. 
 
Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? 
Sweet lady! speak those words again: 
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so – 
I would not give that bosom pain. 

1. Epitaph
2. Churchill’s Grave
3. On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School
4. Lines Addressed to a Young Lady
5. To the Earl of Clare

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