(via s-e-a-soul)
(Source: b-c-d, via s-e-a-soul)
My first tattoo. Yes, I have a tramp stamp. No, I don’t think its trashy.
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:Lond, long shall I rue thee,Too deeply to tell.I secret we met—I silence I grieve,That thy heart could forget,Thy spirit deceive.If I should meet theeAfter long years,How should I greet thee?With silence and tears.
George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824)
