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George Gordon Byron - If Sometimes In The Haunts Of Men
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If sometimes in the haunts of men
   Thine image from my breast may fade,
The lonely hour presents again
   The semblance of thy gentle shade:
And now that sad and silent hour
   Thus much of thee can still restore,
And sorrow unobserved may pour
   The plaint she dare not speak before.
 
Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile
   I waste one thought I owe to thee, 
And self?condemn`d, appear to smile,
   Unfaithful to thy memory:
Nor deem that memory less dear,
   That then I seem not to repine;
I would not fools should overhear
   One sigh that should be wholly thine.
 
If not the goblet pass unquaff`d,
   It is not drain`d to banish care;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,
   That brings a Lethe for despair. 
And could Oblivion set my soul
   From all her troubled visions free,
I`d dash to earth the sweetest bowl
   That drown`d a single thought of thee.
 
For wert thou vanish`d from my mind,
   Where could my vacant bosom turn?
And who would then remain behind
   To honour thine abandon`d Um?
No, no - it is my sorrow`s pride
   That last dear duty to fulfil:
Though all the world forget beside,
   `Tis meet that I remember still.
 
For well I know, that such had been
   Thy gentle care for him, who now
Unmourn`d shall quit this mortal scene,
   Where none regarded him, but thou:
And, oh! I feel in that was given
   A blessing never meant for me;
Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven
   For earthly Love to merit thee.
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