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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396137" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Lines, On Hearing That Lady Byron Was Ill</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thou wert sad—yet I was not with thee!<br>And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;<br>Methought that joy and health alone could be<br>Where I was not—and pain and sorrow here.<br>And is it thus?—it is as I foretold,<br>And shall be more so; for the mind recoils<br>Upon itself, and the wrecked heart lies cold,<br>While heaviness collects the shattered spoils.<br>It is not in the storm nor in the strife<br>We feel benumbed, and wish to be no more,<br>But in the after-silence on the shore,<br>When all is lost, except a little life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am too well avenged!—but 'twas my right;<br>Whate'er my sins might be, thou wert not sent<br>To be the Nemesis who should requite— <br>Nor did heaven choose so near an instrument.<br>Mercy is for the merciful!—if thou<br>Hast been of such, 'twill be accorded now.<br>Thy nights are banished from the realms of sleep!— <br>Yes! they may flatter thee, but thou shalt feel<br>A hollow agony which will not heal,<br>For thou art pillowed on a curse too deep;<br>Thou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap<br>The bitter harvest in a woe as real!<br>I have had many foes, but none like thee;<br>For 'gainst the rest myself I could defend,<br>And be avenged, or turn them into friend;<br>But thou in safe implacability<br>Hadst nought to dread—in thy own weakness shielded,<br>And in my love which hath but too much yielded,<br>And spared, for thy sake, some I should not spare— <br>And thus upon the world—trust in thy truth— <br>And the wild fame of my ungoverned youth— <br>On things that were not, and on things that are— <br>Even upon such a basis hast thou built<br>A monument whose cement hath been guilt!<br>The moral Clytemnestra of thy lord,<br>And hewed down, with an unsuspected sword,<br>Fame, peace, and hope—and all the better life<br>Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart,<br>Might still have risen from out the grave of strife,<br>And found a nobler duty than to part.<br>But of thy virtues didst thou make a vice,<br>Trafficking with them in a purpose cold,<br>For present anger, and for future gold— <br>And buying other's grief at any price.<br>And thus once entered into crooked ways,<br>The early truth, which was thy proper praise,<br>Did not still walk beside thee—but at times,<br>And with a breast unknowing its own crimes,<br>Deceit, averments incompatible,<br>Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell<br>In Janus-spirits—the significant eye<br>Which learns to lie with silence—the pretext<br>Of Prudence, with advantages annexed— <br>The acquiescence in all things which tend,<br>No matter how, to the desired end— <br>All found a place in thy philosophy.<br>The means were worthy, and the end is won— <br>I would not do by thee as thou hast done!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Byron">Byron</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396137" data-title="Lines, On Hearing That Lady Byron Was Ill de Byron" data-description="And thou wert sad—yet I was not with thee!
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;
Methought that joy and health alone could be
Where I was not—and pain and sorrow here.
And is it thus?—it is as I foretold,
And shall be more so; for the ..."></div>
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