lord byron - and thou art dead, as young and fair lyrics
and thou art dead, as young and fair
as aught of mortal birth;
and form so soft, and charms so rare
too soon return’d to earth!
though earth receiv’d them in her bed
and o’er the spot the crowd may tread
in carelessness or mirth
there is an eye which could not brook
a moment on that grave to look
i will not ask where thou liest low
nor gaze upon the spot;
there flowers or weeds at will may grow
so i behold them not:
it is enough for me to prove
that what i lov’d, and long must love
like common earth can rot;
to me there needs no stone to tell
‘t is nothing that i lov’d so well
yet did i love thee to the last
as fervently as thou
who didst not change through all the past
and canst not alter now
the love where death has set his seal
nor age can chill, nor rival steal
nor falsehood disavow:
and, what were worse, thou canst not see
or wrong, or change, or fault in me
the better days of life were ours;
the worst can be but mine:
the sun that cheers, the storm that lowers
shall never more be thine
the silence of that dreamless sleep
i envy now too much to weep;
nor need i to repine
that all those charms have p-ss’d away
i might have watch’d through long decay
the flower in ripen’d bloom unmatch’d
must fall the earliest prey;
though by no hand untimely sn-tch’d
the leaves must drop away:
and yet it were a greater grief
to watch it withering, leaf by leaf
than see it pluck’d to-day;
since earthly eye but ill can bear
to trace the change to foul from fair
i know not if i could have borne
to see thy beauties fade;
the night that follow’d such a morn
had worn a deeper shade:
thy day without a cloud hath p-ss’d
and thou wert lovely to the last
extinguish’d, not decay’d;
as stars that shoot along the sky
shine brightest as they fall from high
as once i wept, if i could weep
my tears might well be shed
to think i was not near to keep
one vigil o’er thy bed;
to gaze, how fondly! on thy face
to fold thee in a faint embrace
uphold thy drooping head;
and show that love, however vain
nor thou nor i can feel again
yet how much less it were to gain
though thou hast left me free
the loveliest things that still remain
than thus remember thee!
the all of thine that cannot die
through dark and dread eternity
returns again to me
and more thy buried love endears
than aught except its living years
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