'T is time this heart should be unmoved,

Since others it hath ceased to move:

Yet, though I cannot be beloved,

Still let me love!

My days are in the yellow leaf;

The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;

The worm, the canker, and the grief

Are mine alone!

The fire that on my bosom preys

Is lone as some Volcanic isle;

No torch is kindled at its blaze-

A funeral pile.

Seek out-less often sought than found-

A soldier's grave, for thee the best;

Then look around, and choose thy ground,

And take thy Rest. (Lord Byron)

'T is time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move: Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love! My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of Love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some Volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at its blaze- A funeral pile. Seek out-less often sought than found- A soldier's grave, for thee the best; Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy Rest.

Lord Byron

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beloved best blaze bosom canker choose found fire funeral grave grief ground heart isle leaf lone love mine move pile rest seek should take thee time torch volcanic worm yellow yet others days

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