I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name; <br />There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame; <br />But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart <br />The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart. <br />Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace, <br />Were those hours - can their joy or their bitterness cease? <br />We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, - <br />We will part, we will fly to - unite it again! <br />Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt! <br />Forgive me, adored one! - forsake if thou wilt; <br />But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased, <br />And man shall not break it - whatever thou may'st. <br />And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee, <br />This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be; <br />And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet, <br />With thee at my side, than with worlds at our feet. <br />One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love, <br />Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove. <br />And the heartless may wonder at all I resign - <br />Thy lips shall reply, not to them, but to mine.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-speak-not/
