Explore "To D-" by Lord Byron on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp / A friend whom death alone could sever; / Till envy, with malignant grasp, / Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.
True, she has forced 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.
And when the grave restored 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