George Gordon Noel Byron

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains--Beautiful!
I linger yet with read more

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains--Beautiful!
I linger yet with Nature, for the night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness
I learn'd the language of another world.

But owned that smile, if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer.

But owned that smile, if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer.

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.

The power of Thought,--the magic of the Mind!

The power of Thought,--the magic of the Mind!

Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler,
And daughters sometimes run off with the butler.

Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler,
And daughters sometimes run off with the butler.