George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
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.
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.
Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
read more
Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider.
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.
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes;
But no too humbly, or she will despise
Thee and read more
Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes;
But no too humbly, or she will despise
Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes:
Disguise even tenderness if thou art wise.
Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms,
And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine,
read more
Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms,
And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine,
To hail his father; while his little form
Flutters as winged with joy. Talk not of pain!
The childless cherubs well might envy thee
The pleasures of a parent.
I die,--but first I have possess'd,
And come what may, I have been bless'd.
I die,--but first I have possess'd,
And come what may, I have been bless'd.
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.
Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardoned all, except her face.
Yet even her tyranny had such a grace,
The women pardoned all, except her face.
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.
