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George Gordon Byron - To Thyrza
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Without a stone to mark the spot,
   And say, what Truth might well have said,
By all, save one, perchance forgot,
   Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid?
 
By many a shore and many a sea
   Divided, yet beloved in vain;
The past, the future fled to thee,
   To bid us meet no ne`er again!
 
Could this have been--a word, a look,
   That softly said, `We part in peace,`
Had taught my bosom how to brook, 
   With fainter sighs, thy soul`s release.
 
And didst thou not, since Death for thee
   Prepared a light and pangless dart,
Once long for him thou ne`er shaft see,
   Who held, and holds thee in his heart?
 
Oh! who like him had watch`d thee here?
   Or sadly mark`d thy glazing eye,
In that dread hour ere death appear,
   When silent sorrow fears to sigh, 
 
Till all was past; But when no more
   `Twas thine to reek of human woe,
Affection`s heart-drops, gushing o`er,
   Had flow`d as fast--as now they flow.
 
Shall they not flow, when many a day
   In these, to me, deserted towers, 
Ere call`d but for a time away,
   Affection`s mingling tears were ours?
 
Ours too the glance none saw beside;
   The smile none else might understand;
The whisper`d thought of hearts allied,
The pressure of the thrilling hand; 
 
The kiss, so guiltless and refined,
   That Love each warmer wish forbore;
Those eyes proclaim`d so pure a mind,
   Even Passion blush`d to plead for more.
 
The tone, that taught me to rejoice,
   When prone, unlike thee, to repine;
The song, celestial from thy voice,
   But sweet to me from none but thine;
 
The pledge we wore--I wear it still, 
   But where is thine?--Ah! where art thou?
Oft have I borne the weight of ill,
   But never bent beneath till now!
 
Well hast thou left in life`s best bloom
   The cup of woe for me to drain.
If rest alone be in the tomb,
   I would not wish thee here again.
 
But if in worlds more blest than this
   Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere,
Impart some portion of thy bliss,
   To wean me from mine anguish here.
 
Teach me--too early taught by thee!
   To bear, forgiving and forgiven:
On earth by love was such to me--
   It fain would form my hope in heaven!
 
October 11, 1811.
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