George Gordon Noel Byron

Hot from the hands promiscuously applied,
Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side.

Hot from the hands promiscuously applied,
Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side.

But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,
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But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,
And roam along, the world's tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.

Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.

Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.

I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve read more

I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.

"Farewell!"
For in that word--that fatal word--howe'er
We promise--hope--believe--there breathes despair.

"Farewell!"
For in that word--that fatal word--howe'er
We promise--hope--believe--there breathes despair.