Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/296

260 Of our own Soul turn all our blood to tears,

And colour things to come with hues of Night;

The race of life becomes a hopeless flight

To those that walk in darkness: on the sea

The boldest steer but where their ports invite—

But there are wanderers o'er Eternity

Whose bark drives on and on, and anchored ne'er shall be.

LXXI.

Is it not better, then, to be alone,

And love Earth only for its earthly sake?