George Gordon Noel Byron

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

With eyes that look'd into the very soul--
. . . .
Bright--and as black and burning read more

With eyes that look'd into the very soul--
. . . .
Bright--and as black and burning as coal.

The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse.

The fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse.

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.

A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love read more

A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.