George Gordon Noel Byron

And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
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And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like shy bubbles, onward; from a boy
I wanton'd with thy breakers.
. . . .
And laid my hand upon thy mane--as I do here.

In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.

In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.

But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws
So much, as when we call our old debts in
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But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws
So much, as when we call our old debts in
At sixty years, and draw the accounts of evil,
And find a deuced balance with the devil.

But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and
the life he leads?

But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and
the life he leads?

Kathleen Mavourneen, the gray dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill,
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Kathleen Mavourneen, the gray dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill,
The lark from her light wing the bright dew is shaking--
Kathleen Mavourneen, what, slumbering, still?
Oh hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever?
Oh hast thou forgotten this day we must part?
It may be for years and it may be forever;
Oh why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?