[Byron]   [Home]


Lord Byron


Time!   on whose arbitrary wing

The varying hours must flag or fly,

Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring,

But drag or drive us on to die ---

Hail thou !   who on my birth bestow'd

Those boons to all that know thee known;

Yet better I sustain thy load,

For now I bear the weight alone.

I would not one fond heart should share

The bitter moments thou hast given;

And pardon thee, since thou could'st spare

All that I loved, to peace or heaven.

To them be joy or rest, on me

Thy future ills shall press in vain;

I nothing owe but years to thee,

A debt already paid in pain.

Yet even that pain was some relief,

It felt, but still forgot thy power:

The active agony of grief

Retards, but never counts the hour.

In joy I've sigh'd to think thy flight

Would soon subside from swift to slow;

Thy cloud could overcast the light,

But could not add a night to woe;

For then, however drear and dark,

My soul was suited to thy sky;

One star alone shot forth a spark

To prove thee --- not Eternity.

That beam hath sunk, and now thou art

A blank; a thing to count and curse,

Through each dull tedious trifling part,

Which all regret, yet all rehearse.

One scene even thou canst not deform;

The limit of thy sloth or speed

When future wanderers bear the storm

Which we shall sleep too sound to heed:

And I can smile to think how weak

Thine efforts shortly shall be shown,

When all the vengeance thou canst wreak

Must fall upon --- a nameless stone.


[Byron]   [Home]