George Gordon Noel Byron

And one by one in turn, some grand mistake
Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.

And one by one in turn, some grand mistake
Casts off its bright skin yearly like the snake.

So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
Viewed read more

So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quivered in his heart.

I am not now
That which I have been.

I am not now
That which I have been.

Shrine of the mighty! can it be,
That this is all remains of thee?

Shrine of the mighty! can it be,
That this is all remains of thee?

Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.

Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.