Thine eyes, for which, alas! I die.
Look on it when I am far from thee;
My love asks no return more dear;
As of one dead remember me,
And think my heart is buried here.
It was only on translating the last line that I recognized them as Lord Byron’s.
Written in an Album.
As o’er the cold sepulchral stone
Some name arrests the passer-by,
Thus when thou view’st this page alone