Poem by George Gordon Byron

* * *

There was a time, I need not name,
    Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
    As still my soul hath been to thee.

And from that hour when first thy tongue
    Confess'd a love which equall'd mine,
Though many a grief my heart hath wrung,
    Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine,

None, none hath sunk so deep as this--
    To think how all that love hath flown;
Transient as every faithless kiss,
    But transient in thy breast alone.

And yet my heart some solace knew,
    When late I heard thy lips declare,
In accents once imagined true,
    Remembrance of the days that were.

Yes! my adored, yet most unkind!
    Though thou wilt never love again,
To me 'tis doubly sweet to find
    Remembrance of that love remain.

Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me,
    Nor longer shall my soul repine,
Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be,
    Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.

1. Epitaph
2. Churchill’s Grave
3. On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School
4. Lines Addressed to a Young Lady
5. To the Earl of Clare

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