in these eyes there lurk a tear

                            I

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. 

                            II

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 

[Lord Byron {George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron FRS} {1788-1824} 'My Soul is Dark', in Byron {Everyman's Library Pocket Poets]