George Gordon Noel Byron

Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its read more

Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
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Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider.

Fair Greece! and relic of departed worth!
Immortal, though no more; though fallen great!

Fair Greece! and relic of departed worth!
Immortal, though no more; though fallen great!

Put himself upon his good behavior.

Put himself upon his good behavior.

I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies!
If captains the remark, or critics, make,
Why they read more

I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies!
If captains the remark, or critics, make,
Why they lie also--under a mistake.