’Twas in heaven pronounced, it was murder’d in hell
And Echo caught faintly the sound as it fell,
In the confines of Earth ’twas permitted to rest
And the depth of the ocean its presence confessed.
’Twill be found in the spheres, when they’re riven asunder
’Tis seen in the lightning, and heard in the thunder.
’Twas allotted to man in his earliest breath,
It assists at his birth and attends him in death;
’Tis the prop of his house, and the end of his wealth,
In the heaps of the miser ’tis hoarded with care
But is sure to be lost in the prodigal heir.
It begins every hope, every wish it must bound,
It prays with the hermit, with monarchs is found,
Without it the soldier or seaman may roam
But woe to the wretch who expels it from home.
In the whisper of conscience ’tis sure to be found,
Nor e’er in the whirlwind of passion is drowned,
’Twill soften the heart, but though deaf to the ear,
’Twill make it acutely and constantly hear,
But enough — let it rest like a delicate flower
Oh! breathe on it softly, it dies in an hour.
By Lord Byron
Answer: The Letter H