Byron: "My Soul Is Dark"

I

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 luck a tear
          'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

II

But bid the strain be wild and deep,
          Nor let they 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.

--Lord Byron