George Gordon Noel Byron

Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong.

Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong.

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her eyebrow's read more

Her glossy hair was cluster'd o'er a brow
Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth;
Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow,
Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth,
Mounting, at times, to a transparent glow,
As if her veins ran lightning.

Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardoned all, except her face.

Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardoned all, except her face.

By all that's good and glorious.

By all that's good and glorious.

The careful pilot of my proper woe.

The careful pilot of my proper woe.