George Gordon Noel Byron

There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and
true religion.

There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and
true religion.

Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its read more

Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

Father of Light! great God of Heaven!
Hear'st thou the accents of despair?
Can guilt like man's read more

Father of Light! great God of Heaven!
Hear'st thou the accents of despair?
Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven?
Can vice atone for crimes by prayer?

How chang'd since last her speaking eye
Glanc'd gladness round the glitt'ring room,
Where high-born men were read more

How chang'd since last her speaking eye
Glanc'd gladness round the glitt'ring room,
Where high-born men were proud to wait--
Where Beauty watched to imitate.

Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried?

Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried?