George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
And wrinkles, the d--d democrats, won't flatter.
And wrinkles, the d--d democrats, won't flatter.
Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
What gem hath dropp'd, and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
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What gem hath dropp'd, and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
That starts at once--bright pure--from Pity's mine,
Already polish'd by the hand divine!
Endearing Waltz--to thy more melting tune
Bow Irish jig, and ancient rigadoon.
Scotch reels, avaunt! and country-dance read more
Endearing Waltz--to thy more melting tune
Bow Irish jig, and ancient rigadoon.
Scotch reels, avaunt! and country-dance forego
Your future claims to each fantastic toe!
Waltz--Waltz alone--both legs and arms demands,
Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands.
That all-softening, overpowering knell,
The tocsin of the soul--the dinner bell.
That all-softening, overpowering knell,
The tocsin of the soul--the dinner bell.
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
In Venice, Tass's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling read more
In Venice, Tass's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear.
On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet.
On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet.
Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honour'd race.
Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honour'd race.
All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep,
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep,
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
