Well! thou art happy, and I feel <br />That I should thus be happy too; <br />For still my heart regards thy weal <br />Warmly, as it was wont to do. <br /> <br />Thy husband's blest — and 'twill impart <br />Some pangs to view his happier lot: <br />But let them pass — Oh! how my heart <br />Would hate him if he loved thee not! <br /> <br />When late I saw thy favourite child, <br />I thought my jealous heart would break; <br />But when the unconscious infant smiled, <br />I kiss'd it for its mother's sake. <br /> <br />I kiss'd it, — and repress'd my sighs <br />Its father in its face to see; <br />But then it had its mother's eyes, <br />And they were all to love and me. <br /> <br />Mary, adieu! I must away: <br />While thou art blest I'll not repine; <br />But near thee I can never stay; <br />y~ heart would soon again be thine. <br /> <br />I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride, <br />Had quench'd at length my boyish flame; <br />Nor knew, till seated by thy side <br />My heart in all, — save hope,— the same. <br /> <br />Yet was I calm: I knew the time <br />My breast would thrill before thy look; <br />But now to tremble were a crime <br />We met, — and not a nerve was shook. <br /> <br />I saw thee gaze upon my face, <br />Yet meet with no confusion there: <br />One only feeling could'st thou trace; <br />The sullen calmness of despair. <br /> <br />Away! away! my early dream <br />Remembrance never must awake: <br />Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream? <br />My foolish heart, be still, or break. <br /> <br />November 2, 1808<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/well-thou-art-happy/
