Zda się być żywą -gdyby nie to oko, Gdzie już nie świeci ni łza, ni namiętność, Gdzie mieszka zimna, wieczna obojętność. - Lord Byron

Her guardian angel had given up his garrison

Oh Love! no habitant of earth thou art — An unseen seraph, we believe in thee,
A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart,
But never yet hath seen, nor e’er shall see
The naked eye, thy form, as it should be;
The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven,
Even with its own desiring phantasy,
And to a thought such shape and image given,
As haunts the unquench’d soul — parch’d — wearied — wrung — and riven.

Despair of all recovery spoils longevity,
And makes men’s miseries of alarming brevity.