To D----

To D----

1.

In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp
A friend, whom death alone could sever;
Till envy, with malignant grasp,
Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.

2.

True, she has forc'd thee from my _breast_,
Yet, in my _heart_, thou keep'st thy seat;
There, there, thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat.

3.

And, when the grave restores her dead,
When life again to dust is given,
On _thy dear_ breast I'll lay my head--
Without _thee! where_ would be _my Heaven?_

February, 1803.

-THE END-
Lord Byron's poem: To D----

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