George Gordon Noel Byron

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her Beauty and read more

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted--they have torn me--and I bleed!
read more

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted--they have torn me--and I bleed!
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

'Tis solitude should teach us how to die;
It hath no flatterers; vanity can give
No hollow read more

'Tis solitude should teach us how to die;
It hath no flatterers; vanity can give
No hollow aid; alone--man with his God must strive.

Oh! nature's noblest gift--my gray-goose quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy read more

Oh! nature's noblest gift--my gray-goose quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent-bird to form a pen,
That might instrument of little men!