Oh when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow? <br />Oh when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay? <br />The present is hell, and the coming to-morrow <br />But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day. <br /> <br />From my eye flows no tear, from my lips flow no curses <br />I blast not the fiends who have hurl'd me from bliss; <br />For poor is the soul which bewailing rehearses <br />Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this. <br /> <br />Was my eye, 'stead of tears, with red fury flakes bright'ning, <br />Would my lips breathe a flame which no stream could assuage <br />On our foes should my glance launch in vengeance its lightning, <br />With transport my tongue give loose to its rage. <br /> <br />But now tears and curses, alike unavailing, <br />Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight; <br />Could they view us our sad separation bewailing <br />Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight. <br /> <br />Yet still, though we bend with a feign'd resignation, <br />Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer; <br />Love and hope upon earth bring no more consolation, <br />In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear. <br /> <br />Oh! when, my adored, in the tomb will they place me, <br />Since, in life, love and friendship for ever are fled? <br />If again in the mansion of death I embrace thee, <br />Perhaps they will leave unmolested the dead.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-caroline-oh-when-shall-the-grave-hide/
