George Gordon Noel Byron

Oh, for one hour of blind old Dandolo,
Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe!

Oh, for one hour of blind old Dandolo,
Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe!

And her face so fair
Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.

And her face so fair
Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.

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.

Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No,"
And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
read more

Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No,"
And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow,
Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.

Thou who hast
The fatal gist of beauty.

Thou who hast
The fatal gist of beauty.