George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
There was no great disparity of years,
Though much in temper; but they never clash'd,
They moved read more
There was no great disparity of years,
Though much in temper; but they never clash'd,
They moved like stars united in their spheres,
Or like the Rhone by Leman's waters wash'd,
Where mingled and yet separate appears
The river from the lake, all bluely dash'd
Through the serene and placid glassy deep,
Which fain would lull its river-child to sleep.
Of all
The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show
Who car'd about the corpse? read more
Of all
The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show
Who car'd about the corpse? The funeral
Made the attraction, and the black the woe;
There throbb'd not there a thought which pierc'd the pall.
Like a lovely tree
She grew to womanhood, and between whiles
Rejected several suitors, just to learn
read more
Like a lovely tree
She grew to womanhood, and between whiles
Rejected several suitors, just to learn
How to accept a better in his turn.
But every fool describes, in these bright days,
His wondrous journey to some foreign court,
And spawns read more
But every fool describes, in these bright days,
His wondrous journey to some foreign court,
And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,--
Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport.
And if I laugh at any mortal thing,
'Tis that I may not weep.
And if I laugh at any mortal thing,
'Tis that I may not weep.
The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted--they have torn me--and I bleed!
read more
The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree
I planted--they have torn me--and I bleed!
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
Weren't the last drop in the well,
As I gasp'd upon the brink,
Ere my fainting spirit read more
Weren't the last drop in the well,
As I gasp'd upon the brink,
Ere my fainting spirit fell,
'Tis to thee that I would drink.
'Tis an old lesson; time approves it true,
And those who know it best, deplore it most;
read more
'Tis an old lesson; time approves it true,
And those who know it best, deplore it most;
When all is won that all desire to woo,
The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost.
Put himself upon his good behavior.
Put himself upon his good behavior.