Poem by George Gordon Byron

To Thyrza

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 shalt see,
⁠     ⁠Who held, and holds thee in his heart?
Oh! who like him had watched thee here?
⁠⁠     Or sadly marked 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 reck of human woe,
Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
⁠     ⁠Had flowed as fast—as now they flow.
Shall they not flow, when many a day[6]
⁠     ⁠In these, to me, deserted towers,
Ere called 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 whispered thought of hearts allied,
⁠     ⁠The pressure of the thrilling hand;
The kiss, so guiltless and refined,
⁠⁠     That Love each warmer wish forbore;
Those eyes proclaimed so pure a mind,
⁠     ⁠Ev'n Passion blushed 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 thy love was such to me;
⁠     ⁠It fain would form my hope in Heaven!

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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