George Gordon Noel Byron

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,
And there hath been thy bane.

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,
And there hath been thy bane.

Yet still there whispers the small voice within,
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din;
Whatever read more

Yet still there whispers the small voice within,
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din;
Whatever creed be taught or land be trod,
Man's conscience is the oracle of God.

Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water!
Ye happy mixture of more happy days!

Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water!
Ye happy mixture of more happy days!

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing save the waves and I
May hear our mutual read more

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing save the waves and I
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swan-like, let me sing and die.