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.
 

When we two parted
    In slience and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
    To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
    Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
    Sorrow to this!
The dew of the morning
    Sunk chill on my brow;
It felt like the warning
    Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
    And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken
    And share in it's shame.

They name thee before me,
    A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me-
    Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee
    Who knew thee too well;
How long shall I rue thee
    Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met:
    In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
    Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
    After long years,
How should I greet thee?-
    With silence and tears.
 

So we'll go no more a roving
    So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
    And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
    And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
    And Love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
    And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
    By the light of the moon.
 

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
 

LorD ByRoNs WoRds Of PoeTry!