George Gordon Noel Byron

Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.

Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.

What exile from himself can flee?
To zones, though more and more remote,
Still, still pursues, where'er read more

What exile from himself can flee?
To zones, though more and more remote,
Still, still pursues, where'er I be,
The blight of life--the demon Thought.

He left a Corsair's name to other times,
Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes.

He left a Corsair's name to other times,
Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes.

And both were young, and one was beautiful.

And both were young, and one was beautiful.

'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,
Should let itself be snuff'd out by an article.

'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,
Should let itself be snuff'd out by an article.