George Gordon Noel Byron

Friendship is Love without his wings!

Friendship is Love without his wings!

And circumstance, that unspiritual god,
And miscreator, makes and helps along
Our coming evils, with a critch-like read more

And circumstance, that unspiritual god,
And miscreator, makes and helps along
Our coming evils, with a critch-like rod,
Whose touch turns hope to dust--the dust we all have trod.

Shrine of the mighty! can it be,
That this is all remains of thee?

Shrine of the mighty! can it be,
That this is all remains of thee?

How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
In their pure incarnation, vying with
The rose leaves strewn read more

How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
In their pure incarnation, vying with
The rose leaves strewn beneath them.
And his lips, too,
How beautifully parted! No; you shall not
Kiss him; at least not now; he will wake soon--
His hour of midday rest is nearly over.

Soprano, basso, even the contra-alto
Wished him five fathom under the Rialto.

Soprano, basso, even the contra-alto
Wished him five fathom under the Rialto.