Explore "To Caroline III" by Lord Byron on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Oh when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow? / Oh when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay? / The present is hell, and the coming to-morrow / But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day.
From my eye flows no tear, from my lips flow no curses; / I blast not the fiends who have hurl'd me from bliss; / For poor is the soul which bewailing rehearses / Its querulous grief, when in anguish like this.