You will never be forgotten

我太笨了,现在才想起我最爱的诗人George G. Byron写的诗
字里行间的感情,就是为你而写的.
希望他不会怪我借来献给你
节选自TO THYRZA
WITHOUT a stone to mark the spot,
And say, what Truth might well have said,
By all, save one, perchance forgot,
Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid?
But when no more
'Twas thine to reck of human woe,
Affection's heart-drops, gushing o'er,
Had flow'd as fast -- as now they flow.
Well hast thou left in life's best bloom
The cup of woe for me to drain.
If rest alone be in the tomb,
I would not wish thee here again;
But if in worlds more blest than this
Thy virtues seek a fitter sphere,
Impart some portion of thy bliss,
To wean me from mine anguish here.
Teach me-- too early taught by thee!
To bear, forgiving and forgiven.

AWAY, AWAY ( i replace Thyrza with Steo )
AWAY, away, ye notes of woe!
Be silent, thou once soothing strain,
Or I must flee from hence --for,oh!
I dare not trust those sounds again.
To me they speak of brighter days--
But lull the chords, for now, alas!
I must not think, I may not gaze
On what I am--on what I was.
The voice that made those sounds more sweet
Is hush'd, and all their charms are fled;
And now their softest notes repeat
A dirge, an anthem o'er the dead!
Yes, Steo! yes, they breathe of thee
Beloved dust! since dust thou art;
And all that once was harmony
Is worse than discord to my heart!
'Tis silent all!-- but on my ear
The well remember'd echoes thrill;
I hear a voice I would not hear,
A vioce that now might well be still:
Yet oft my doubting sould 'twill shake;
Even slumber owns its gentle tone,
Till consciousness will vainly wake
To listen, thought the dream be flown.
Sweet Steo! waking as in sleep,
Thou art but now a lovely dream;
A star that trembled o'er the deep,
Then turned from earth its tender beam.
But he who through life's dreary way
Must pass, when hearven is veil'd in wrath,
Will long lament the vanish'd ray
That scatter'd gladness o'er his path.

AND thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,
Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though Earth received them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look.
I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow,
So I behold them not;
It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved, and long must love,
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well

IF sometimes in the haunts of men
This image from my breast may fade,
The lonely hour presents again
The semblance of thy gentle shade:
And now that sad and silent hour
Thus much of thee can still restore,
And sorrow unobserved may pour
The plaint she dare not speak before.
Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile
I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And self-condemn'd, appear to smile,
Unfaithful to thy memory!
Nor deem that memory less dear,
That then I seem not to repine;
I would not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.
If not the goblet pass unquaff'd
It is not drain'd to banish care;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,
That brings a Lethe for despair.
and could Oblivion set my soul
From all her troubled visions free,
I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl
That drown'd a single thought of thee.
For wert thou vanish'd from my mind,
Where could my vacant bosom turn?
And who would then remain behind
To honour thine abandon'd Urn?
No, no--it is my sorrow's pride
That last dear duty to fulfil;
though all the world forget beside,
'Tis meet that I remember sill.