Explore "Monody on the Death of the Right Hon. R. B. Sheridan" by Lord Byron on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When the last sunshine of expiring day / In summer's twilight weeps itself away, / Who hath not felt the softness of the hour / Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower? / With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes / While Nature makes that melancholy pause, / Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time / Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime, / Who hath not shared that calm, so still and deep, / The voiceless thought which would not speak but weep, / A holy concord, and a bright regret, / A glorious sympathy with suns that set? / ‘Tis not harsh sorrow, but a tenderer woe, / Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below, / Felt without bitterness, but full and clear, / A sweet dejection, a transparent tear, / Unmix'd with worldly grief or selfish stain, / Shed without shame, and secret without pain.
Even as the tenderness that hour instils / When Summer's day declines along the hills.