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03.11.2022 ³
My Soul Is Dark - poem by Lord Byron
My soul is dark Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs oer mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again:
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence, long;
And now tis doomed to know the worst,
And break at once or yield to song.
