Blog Poetry

My Soul By Lord Byron

My soul is dark – Oh! quickly string

    The harp I yet can brook to hear;

And let thy gentle fingers fling

    Its melting murmur o’er mine ear.

If in this heart a hope be dear,

    That sound shall charm it forth again:

If in these eyes there lurk a tear,

    ‘Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

But bid the strain be wild and deep,

    Nor let thy notes of joy be first:

I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,

    Or else this heavy heart will burst;

For it had been by sorrow nursed,

    And ached in sleepless silence long;

And now ‘tis doomed to know the worst,

    And break at once – or yield to song.

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