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And wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not so— I would not give that ***** pain. My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone Wilt sigh above my place of rest. And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace Doth through my cloud of anguish shine: And for a while my sorrows cease, To know thy heart hath felt for mine. Oh lady! blessèd be that tear— It falls for one who cannot weep; Such precious drops are doubly dear To those whose eyes no tear may steep. Sweet lady! once my heart was warm With every feeling soft as thine; But Beauty’s self hath ceased to charm A wretch created to repine. Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not so— I would not give that ***** pain.
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And Wilt Thou Weep When I Am Low?
And wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not so— I would not give that ***** pain. My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone Wilt sigh above my place of rest. And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace Doth through my cloud of anguish shine: And for a while my sorrows cease, To know thy heart hath felt for mine. Oh lady! blessèd be that tear— It falls for one who cannot weep; Such precious drops are doubly dear To those whose eyes no tear may steep. Sweet lady! once my heart was warm With every feeling soft as thine; But Beauty’s self hath ceased to charm A wretch created to repine. Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not so— I would not give that ***** pain.
Lord Byron
1788 - 1824/Male/English