When we two parted In silence and tears, Half brokenhearted, To sever for years. - Lord Byron

Light be the turf of thy tomb!
May its verdure like emeralds be:
There should not be the shadow of gloom
In aught that reminds us of thee:
Young flowers, and an evergreen tree
May spring from the spot of thy rest;
But not cypress nor yew let us see;
For why should we mourn for the blest?

The Mind, that broods o’er guilty woes,
Is like the Scorpion girt by fire,
In circle narrowing as it glows
The flames around their captive close,
Till inly search’d by thousand throes,
And maddening in her ire,
One sad and sole relief she knows,
The sting she nourish’d for her foes,
Whose venom never yet was vain,
Gives but one pang, and cures all pain,
And darts into her desperate brain. — So do the dark in soul expire,
Or live like Scorpion girt by fire;
So writhes the mind Remorse hath riven,
Unfit for earth, undoom’d for heaven,
Darkness above, despair beneath,
Around it flame, within it death!

Cuál es el final de la fama? No es sino llenar
una cierta porción de un papel incierto:
algunos la comparan a trepar a una colina,
cuya cumbre, como la de todas las colinas, está oculta en niebla
...
contar
con un nombre, un despreciable retrato