My Soul is Dark
by George Gordon, 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 o'er 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.
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