George Gordon Noel Byron

Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.

Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.

"Farewell!"
For in that word--that fatal word--howe'er
We promise--hope--believe--there breathes despair.

"Farewell!"
For in that word--that fatal word--howe'er
We promise--hope--believe--there breathes despair.

O Fame!--if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
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O Fame!--if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man read more

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean--roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin--his control
Stops with the shore.

He has grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life.
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He has grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life.
So that no wonder waits him.