George Gordon Noel Byron

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before;
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The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; darkness had no need
Of aid from them--she was the Universe.

I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me,
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I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me,
And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,
Where I beheld what never was to be.

He has grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life.
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He has grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life.
So that no wonder waits him.

A mere court butterfly,
That flutters in the pageant of a monarch.

A mere court butterfly,
That flutters in the pageant of a monarch.

We two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years.

We two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years.