the true meaning of a broken heart

when i was distraught and at the lowest of the low my education and mother pointed towards the bookshelf and a dusty old collection of lord byron poems. It was to be my first foray into Byron, and he would teach me how to nurse a broken heart. It wasn't my first venture in the romantics, Keats, Coleridge, Wordsworth and Yeats and even a smattering of Shelley had been sampled before, in small dosages of course, as the romantics are best tasted that way.

But my broken heart, buckets of tears and shattered hopes and dreams found no greater solace, no greater comfort than in the words of that rapacious rogue. Oh! How i wish i could have known him in real life. I have these ideas about him, the kind of man he would have been.

I'm not even sure if the romantics are my favourite poems. I am, as yet, undecided. but i must say, there are just these things that i KNOW. and one of them is that Byron taught me how to piece together my broken heart. Thankyou.

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 shrudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee so well--
Long, long I shall 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.

When we two parted, Lord Byron

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