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Lord Byron (1788–1824). Poetry of Byron. 1881.

I. Personal, Lyric, and Elegiac

“Well! thou art happy”

WELL! thou art happy, and I feel

That I should thus be happy too;

For still my heart regards thy weal

Warmly, as it was wont to do.

Thy husband’s blest—and ’twill impart

Some pangs to view his happier lot:

But let them pass—Oh! how my heart

Would hate him, if he loved thee not!

When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break;

But when the unconscious infant smiled,

I kiss’d it for its mother’s sake.

I kiss’d it,—and repressed my sighs

Its father in its face to see;

But then it had its mother’s eyes,

And they were all to love and me.

Mary, adieu! I must away:

While thou art blest I’ll not repine;

But near thee I can never stay;

My heart would soon again be thine.

I deem’d that time, I deem’d that pride

Had quench’d at length my boyish flame:

Nor knew, till seated by thy side,

My heart in all,—save hope,—the same.

Yet was I calm: I knew the time

My breast would thrill before thy look;

But now to tremble were a crime—

We met,—and not a nerve was shook.

I saw thee gaze upon my face,

Yet met with no confusion there:

One only feeling could’st thou trace;

The sullen calmness of despair.

Away! away! my early dream

Remembrance never must awake;

Oh! where is Lethe’s fabled stream!

My foolish heart be still, or break.