Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/73

Rh Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

5.

Sweet copy! far more dear to me,

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,

Than all the living forms could be,

Save her who plac'd thee next my heart.

6.

She plac'd it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest time might shake my wavering soul,

Unconscious that her image there

Held every sense in fast controul.

7.

Thro' hours, thro' years, thro' time, 'twill cheer—

My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;

In life's last conflict 'twill appear,

And meet my fond, expiring gaze.