George Gordon Noel Byron

It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the read more

It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whispered word;
And gentle winds, and waters near,
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met,
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue,
And in the heaven that clear obscure,
So softly dark, and darkly pure.
Which follows the decline of day,
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man read more

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin--his control
Stops with the shore.

The nympholepsy of some fond despair.

The nympholepsy of some fond despair.

With more capacity for love than earth
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
His early read more

With more capacity for love than earth
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
His early dreams of good out-stripp'd the truth,
And troubled manhood follow'd baffled youth.

'Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures;
And all are to be sold, if you consider
Their passions, and read more

'Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures;
And all are to be sold, if you consider
Their passions, and are dext'rous; some by features
Are brought up, others by a warlike leader;
Some by a place--as tend their years or natures;
The most by ready cash--but all have prices,
From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.