By Lord Byron (1816)
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow —
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me —
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well —
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met —
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? —
With silence and tears.
Originally published in Poems (1816) by Lord Byron. Public domain.
Analysis
Elegy becomes accusation in this perfectly controlled lyric. Byron’s repeated nouns — silence, tears, years — toll like bells, while the cool diction hardens grief into judgment. The poem’s secret history leaks through its public decorum: what cannot be said aloud returns as a chill, a knell, a name that wounds.
Formally, the short lines and exact rhymes give the voice a clipped intensity, as if the emotion were corseted by measure. The final question answers itself — “With silence and tears” — closing the circle of secrecy. Byron’s mastery lies in how little he tells and how much he implies, letting reticence carry the weight of betrayal.