George Gordon Noel Byron

I love the language, that soft bastard Latin,
Which melts like kisses from a female mouth.

I love the language, that soft bastard Latin,
Which melts like kisses from a female mouth.

On the ear
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.

On the ear
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.

We two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years.

We two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years.

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.

"Yet doth he live!" exclaims th' impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.

"Yet doth he live!" exclaims th' impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.