And Hope but shed a dying spark

Which more misled my lonely way;

In that deep midnight of the mind,

And that internal strife of heart,

When dreading to be deemed too kind,

The weak despair-the cold depart;

When Fortune changed-and Love fled far,

And Hatred's shafts flew thick and fast,

Thou wert the solitary star

Which rose and set not to the last.

Oh! blest be thine unbroken light!

That watched me as a Seraph's eye,

And stood between me and the night,

For ever shining sweetly nigh. (Lord Byron)

And Hope but shed a dying spark Which more misled my lonely way; In that deep midnight of the mind, And that internal strife of heart, When dreading to be deemed too kind, The weak despair-the cold depart; When Fortune changed-and Love fled far, And Hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Thou wert the solitary star Which rose and set not to the last. Oh! blest be thine unbroken light! That watched me as a Seraph's eye, And stood between me and the night, For ever shining sweetly nigh.

Lord Byron

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