Poem by George Gordon Byron

Impromptu, in Reply to a Friend

When, from the heart where Sorrow sits,
⁠    Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
And o'er the changing aspect flits,
⁠    And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;
Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink:
    ⁠My Thoughts their dungeon know too well;
Back to my breast the Wanderers shrink,
⁠    And droop within their silent cell.

1. The Spell Is Broke, the Charm Is Flown!
2. To Florence
3. Churchill’s Grave
4. On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School
5. To the Earl of Clare

Print

6314 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version