Oh! Snatched Away in Beauty's Bloom

Lord Byron

1788 to 1824

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And lingering pause and lightly tread;
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
And thou—who tell'st me to forget,
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Or make one mourner weep the less?
Away! we know that tears are vain,
Will this unteach us to complain?
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
That Death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,

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