George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
Here's a sigh to those who love me,
And a smile to those who hate;
And whatever read more
Here's a sigh to those who love me,
And a smile to those who hate;
And whatever sky's above me,
Here's a heart for every fate.
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before;
read more
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; darkness had no need
Of aid from them--she was the Universe.
How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
In their pure incarnation, vying with
The rose leaves strewn read more
How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
In their pure incarnation, vying with
The rose leaves strewn beneath them.
And his lips, too,
How beautifully parted! No; you shall not
Kiss him; at least not now; he will wake soon--
His hour of midday rest is nearly over.
There is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self condemn'd
He deals on his read more
There is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self condemn'd
He deals on his own soul.
But now being lifted into high society,
And having pick'd up several odds and ends
Of free read more
But now being lifted into high society,
And having pick'd up several odds and ends
Of free thoughts in his travels for variety,
He deem'd, being in a lone isle, among friends,
That without any danger of a riot, he
Might for long lying make himself amends;
And singing as he sung in his warm youth,
Agree to a short armistice with truth.
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.
'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,
Should let itself be snuff'd out by an article.
'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle,
Should let itself be snuff'd out by an article.
The nympholepsy of some fond despair.
The nympholepsy of some fond despair.
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all read more
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.
"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.
