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George Gordon Noel Byron

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Maxioms by George Gordon Noel Byron

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Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its read more

Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

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Whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought and softly bodied forth.

Whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought and softly bodied forth.

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Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.

Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.

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And history with all her volumes vast,
Hath but one page.

And history with all her volumes vast,
Hath but one page.

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I am the very slave of circumstance
And impulse--borne away with every breath.

I am the very slave of circumstance
And impulse--borne away with every breath.

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