George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.
Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind.
Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious queen of childish joys,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,
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Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious queen of childish joys,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,
Thy votive train of girls and boys.
A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
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A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping
In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping
On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy;
A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool's head--and there is London Town.
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.
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.
Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires
The young, makes Weariness forget his toil,
And Fear read more
Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires
The young, makes Weariness forget his toil,
And Fear her danger; opens a new world
When this, the present, palls.
'Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep
From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high
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'Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep
From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high
The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky.
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!
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state;
An hour may lay it in the dust.
A thousand years scarce serve to form a state;
An hour may lay it in the dust.
Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him,
Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample,
Catullus read more
Ovid's a rake, as half his verses show him,
Anacreon's morals are a still worse sample,
Catullus scarcely has a decent poem,
I don't think Sappho's Ode a good example,
Although Longinus tells us there is no hymn
Where the sublime soars forth on wings more ample;
But Virgil's songs are pure, except that horrid one
Being with "Formosum Pastor Corydon."
