My Soul is Dark

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.

 

 by Lord Byron