Lord Byron (1788–1824). Poetry of Byron. 1881.
I. Personal, Lyric, and ElegiacEuthanasia
W
The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,
Oblivion! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o’er my dying bed!
To weep, or wish, the coming blow: No maiden, with dishevell’d hair, To feel, or feign, decorous woe. With no officious mourners near: I would not mar one hour of mirth, Nor startle friendship with a fear. Could nobly check its useless sighs, Might then exert its latest power In her who lives and him who dies. Thy features still serene to see: Forgetful of its struggles past, E’en Pain itself should smile on thee. Will shrink, as shrinks the ebbing breath; And woman’s tears, produced at will, Deceive in life, unman in death. Without regret, without a groan; For thousands Death hath ceased to lower, And pain been transient or unknown. Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was Ere born to life and living woe!— Count o’er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast been, ’Tis something better not to be.