Doubt

Victim

  My Soul is Dark

                    My soul is dark - Oh! quickly string 
                        The harp I yet can brook to hear; 
                    And let thy gentle fingers fling 
                        Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear. 
                    If in this heart a hope be dear, 
                        That sound shall charm it forth again: 
                    If in these eyes there lurk a tear, 
                        'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.

                    But bid the strain be wild and deep, 
                        Nor let thy notes of joy be first: 
                    I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep, 
                        Or else this heavy heart will burst; 
                    For it hath been by sorrow nursed, 
                        And ached in sleepless silence, long; 
                    And now 'tis doomed to know the worst, 
                        And break at once - or yield to song. 

                                                                     -Byron

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