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And a firm will, and a deep sense,
Which even in torture can descry
Its own concentered recompense,
Triumphant where its dares defy,
And making Death a Victory.
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.
I.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
II.
So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.
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