George Gordon Noel Byron

What gem hath dropp'd, and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
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What gem hath dropp'd, and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
That starts at once--bright pure--from Pity's mine,
Already polish'd by the hand divine!

'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.

There is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self condemn'd
He deals on his read more

There is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self condemn'd
He deals on his own soul.

Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with perfume,
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom.

Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress'd with perfume,
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom.

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her eyebrow's read more

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow,
Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,
Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow,
As if her veins ran lightning.