George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
And angling too, that solitary vice,
What Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, read more
And angling too, that solitary vice,
What Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.
There comes
For ever something between us and what
We deem our happiness.
There comes
For ever something between us and what
We deem our happiness.
That famish'd people must be slowly nurst,
And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.
That famish'd people must be slowly nurst,
And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul.
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul.
But these are foolish things to all the wise,
And I love wisdom more than she loves me;
read more
But these are foolish things to all the wise,
And I love wisdom more than she loves me;
My tendency is to philosophise
On most things, from a tyrant to a tree;
But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge flies,
What are we? and whence come we? what shall be
Our ultimate existence? What's our present?
Are questions answerless, and yet incessant.
Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul?
Gone--glimmering read more
Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul?
Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were;
First in the race that led to glory's goal,
They won, and pass'd away--Is this the whole?
How chang'd since last her speaking eye
Glanc'd gladness round the glitt'ring room,
Where high-born men were read more
How chang'd since last her speaking eye
Glanc'd gladness round the glitt'ring room,
Where high-born men were proud to wait--
Where Beauty watched to imitate.
The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the Music breathing from her face,
The read more
The light of love, the purity of grace,
The mind, the Music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,
And, oh! the eye was in itself a Soul!
Father! no prophet's laws I seek,--
Thy laws in Nature's works appear;--
I own myself corrupt and read more
Father! no prophet's laws I seek,--
Thy laws in Nature's works appear;--
I own myself corrupt and weak,
Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear.
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
