George Gordon Byron

London, England
George Gordon Byron
London, England
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I Speak Not, I Trace Not, I Breathe Not Thy Name

Rating: 3.3
I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours - can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, -
We will part, we will fly to - unite it again!
Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!
Forgive me, adored one! - forsake if thou wilt;
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,
And man shall not break it - whatever thou may'st.
And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be;
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee at my side, than with worlds at our feet.
One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove.
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign -
Thy lips shall reply, not to them, but to mine.

May, 1814.
Jaden H 02 December 2020
I liked the poem but what did it have to do with breathing
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tshielo otsogile 10 September 2018
A masterpiece! Perfect word use and rhythm
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Ruta Mohapatra 09 August 2018
A sing-song composition! Can be set to music! How masterfully he uses words! A great poet!
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M Asim Nehal 20 March 2016
This is fantastic poem, it says so many things about the love, life and the caring nature of a person, I liked the essence and the flow of this poem, thanks for sharing.
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Ratnakar Mandlik 20 March 2016
A passionate love poem full of melancholia and a guilty conscience.
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* Sunprincess * 20 March 2016
......incredible rhythm ?
1 0 Reply
Gajanan Mishra 20 March 2016
look of my love, great write..
2 1 Reply
Susan Williams 20 March 2016
The worst Woman that ever existed would have made a Man of very passable reputation. They are all better than us—and their faults, such as they are, must originate with ourselves...- Lord Byron. I wonder if he truly believed that or if it was part of his romantic mystique that he devised to be a popular poet. He often appeared in letters and newspapers and gossip from that age as the very prototype for his gloomy Byronic heroes in his poems, always appearing in the shadows, suffering from his tormented soul, a confused, melancholy, and blighted man who needed a woman's love her to resurrect his goodness. Uh-huh.
20 1 Reply
Kedrix Udjoe 20 March 2016
Yes guilt in the fame
2 1 Reply
Anthony Assumang 20 March 2016
Nice one. This is simply a masterpiece
2 1 Reply

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