George Gordon Noel Byron

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before;
read more

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; darkness had no need
Of aid from them--she was the Universe.

And gazed around them to the left and right
With the prophetic eye of appetite.

And gazed around them to the left and right
With the prophetic eye of appetite.

Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear--
In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
That weapon of her weakness she can read more

Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear--
In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
That weapon of her weakness she can wield,
To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past--
For years fleet away with the wings of the read more

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past--
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove--
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.

On, Amos Cottle!--Phoebus! what a name!

On, Amos Cottle!--Phoebus! what a name!