Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other’s weal avail’d on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air,
But waft thy name beyond the sky.
Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh:
Oh! more than tears of blood can tell,
When wrung from guilt’s expiring eye,
Are in that word—Farewell!—Farewell!
These lips are mute, these eyes are dry;
But in my breast and in my brain,
Awake the pangs that pass not by,
The thought that ne’er shall sleep again.
My soul nor deigns nor dares complain
Though grief and passion there rebel;
I only know we loved in vain—
I only feel—Farewell!—Farewell!
Other works by Lord Byron...
To a Lady Who Presented to the Author a Lock of Hair Braided With His Own, and Appointed a Night in December to Meet Him in the Garden
These locks, which fondly thus ent
In firmer chains our hearts confin
Than all th’ unmeaning protestatio
Which swell with nonsense, love or
Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve