To a Sad Daughter

It is in the wild, the pensive shade, That the light of sound envelops me,
To hold you in breathless wanderings;—
Through the cry of the sprite
Dost create a gear of grace
Beyond the sin that clasps our feet, The grand pretense I called fate—

As I sought the flowers which burgeoned true, Dancing forth from earth to the azure blue,
To plead, and coax the spirit’s rise;

And there you are, with light’s command—
Your banner waves where joy shall stir,
And softly bind the triggers here;—
As thine assembled heart claim ne’er
The hopes that flee, when light shall fade.

• Lord Byron