How the long night flags lovelessly and slowly,
And my head droops over thee like the willow!
Oh! thou, my sad and solitary Pillow!
Send me kind dreams to keep my heart from breaking,
In return for the tears I shed upon thee waking;
Let me not die till he comes back o'er the billow.
Then if thou wilt—no more my lonely Pillow,
In one embrace let these arms again enfold him,
And then expire of the joy—but to behold him!
Oh! my lone bosom!—oh! my lonely Pillow!
[First published, Works of Lord Byron, 1832, xiv. 357.]
But once I dared to lift my eyes—
To lift my eyes to thee;
And since that day, beneath the skies,
No other sight they see.
In vain sleep shuts them in the night—
The night grows day to me;
Presenting idly to my sight
What still a dream must be.
A fatal dream—for many a bar
Divides thy fate from mine;
And still my passions wake and war,
But peace be still with thine.
First published, New Monthly Magazine, 1833, vol. 37, p. 308.]
- [Probably "To Lady Blessington," who includes them in her Conversations of Lord Byron.]