Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear-- In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.

What gem hath dropp'd, and sparkles o'er his chain? The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain, That starts at once--bright pure--from Pity's mine, Already polish'd by the hand divine!

There is a tear for all who die, A mourner o'er the humblest grave. - Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron),

So bright the tear in Beauty's eye, Love half regrets to kiss it dry.

She was a good deal shock'd; not shock'd at tears, For women shed and use them at their liking; But there is something when man's eye appears Wet, still more disagreeable and striking.

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.