And Thou art Dead, as Young and Fair Lord Byron

And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare
Too soon return'd to Earth!
Though Earth receiv'd them in her bed
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread
In carelessness or mirth
There is an eye which could not brook
A moment on that grave to look

I will not ask where thou liest low
Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow
So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
That what I lov'd, and long must love
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell
'T is Nothing that I lov'd so well

Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou
Who didst not change through all the past
And canst not alter now
The love where Death has set his seal
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me