Away, away, ye notes of woe! <br />Be silent, thou once soothing strain, <br />Or I must flee from hence--for, oh! <br />I dare not trust those sounds again. <br />To me they speak of brighter days <br />But lull the chords, for now, alas! <br />I must not think, I may not gaze, <br />On what I am--on what I was. <br /> <br />The voice that made those sounds more sweet <br />Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled <br />And now their softest notes repeat <br />A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead! <br />Yes, Thyrza! yes, they breathe of thee, <br />Beloved dust! since dust thou art; <br />And all that once was harmony <br />Is worse than discord to my heart! <br /> <br />'Tis silent all!--but on my ear <br />The well remember'd echoes thrill; <br />I hear a voice I would not hear, <br />A voice that now might well be still: <br />Yet oft my doubting soul 'twill shake; <br />Even slumber owns its gentle tone, <br />Till consciousness will vainly wake <br />To listen, though the dream be flown. <br /> <br />Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep, <br />Thou art but now a lovely dream; <br />A star that trembled o'er the deep, <br />Then turn'd from earth its tender beam. <br />But he who through life's dreary way <br />Must pass, when heaven is veil'd in wrath, <br />Will long lament the vanish'd ray <br />That scatter'd gladness o'er his path. <br /> <br />December 6, 1811.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/away-away-ye-notes-of-woe/
