Lord George Gordon Byron Poems >>
One Struggle More, And I Am Free

One struggle more, and I am free
 From pangs that rend my heart in twain;
One last long sigh to love and thee,
 Then back to busy life again.
It suits me well to mingle now
 With things that never pleased before!
Though every joy is fled below,
 What future grief can touch me more?

Then bring me wine, the banquet bring;
 Man was not form'd to live alone:
I'll be that light, unmeaning thing
 That smiles with all, and weeps with none.
It was not thus in days more dear,
It never would have been, but thou
Hast fled, and left me lonely here;
 Thou'rt nothing--all are nothing now.

In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!
 The smile that sorrow fain would wear
But mocks the woe that lurks beneath,
 Like roses o'er a sepulchre.      
Though gay companions o'er the bowl
 Dispel awhile the sense of ill:
Though pleasure fires the maddening soul,
 The heart,--the heart is lonely still!

On many a lone and lovely night
  It sooth'd to gaze upon the sky;
For then I deem'd the heavenly light
  Shone sweetly on thy pensive eye:
And oft I thought at Cynthia's noon,
  When sailing o'er the