Oh! snatched away in Beauty's bloom

        Oh! snatched away in Beauty's bloom,
             On thee shall press no ponderous tomb,
        But on thy turf shall roses rear
        Their leaves, the earliest of the year,
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom

   And oft by yon blue gushing stream
       Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
   And feed deep thought with many a dream,
       And lingering pause and lightly tread,
Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!

   Away! we know that tears are vain,
       That Death nor heeds nor hears distress
   Will this unteach us to complain?
       Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou—who tell'st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.

From Poems of Lord Byron (Great Britain:The Florence Press by R. & R. Clark LTD., 1898) by George Gordon Byron. This poem is in the public domain.