When, from the heart where Sorrow sits,
Her dusky shadow mounts too high,
And o'er the changing aspect flits,
And clouds the brow, or fills the eye;
Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink:
My thoughts their dungeon know too well;
Back to my breast the wanderers shrink,
And droop within their silent cell.
More verses by George Gordon Byron
- The Devil's Drive: An Unfinished Rhapsody
- Oscar Of Alva: A Tale
- L'Amitté Est L'Amour
- Lines Addressed To The Rev. J. T. Becher, On His Advising The Author To Mix More With Society
- The Charity Ball