Elegy

Elegy

Byron

OH snatch'd away in beauty's bloom!

On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;

But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves the earliest of the year

And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom: 5

And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head

And feed deep thought with many a dream

And lingering pause and lightly tread;

Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! 10

Away! we know that tears are vain

That Death nor heeds nor hears distress:

Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less?

And thou who tell'st me to forget 15

Thy looks are wan thine eyes are wet.