George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
These two hated with a hate
Found only on the stage.
These two hated with a hate
Found only on the stage.
A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing,
And mischief-making monkey from his birth.
A little curly-headed, good-for-nothing,
And mischief-making monkey from his birth.
And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
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And I have loved them, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like shy bubbles, onward; from a boy
I wanton'd with thy breakers.
. . . .
And laid my hand upon thy mane--as I do here.
There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's read more
There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.
Hope, withering, fled--and Mercy sighed farewell.
Hope, withering, fled--and Mercy sighed farewell.
Whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought and softly bodied forth.
Whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought and softly bodied forth.
'Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures;
And all are to be sold, if you consider
Their passions, and read more
'Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures;
And all are to be sold, if you consider
Their passions, and are dext'rous; some by features
Are brought up, others by a warlike leader;
Some by a place--as tend their years or natures;
The most by ready cash--but all have prices,
From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.
The devil's in the moon for mischief; they
Who call'd her chaste, methinks, began too soon
Their read more
The devil's in the moon for mischief; they
Who call'd her chaste, methinks, began too soon
Their nomenclature; there is not a day,
The longest, not the twenty-first of June,
Sees half the business in a wicked way,
On which three single hours of moonshine smile--
And then she looks so modest all the while!
In friendship I early was taught to believe;
. . . .
I have found that a read more
In friendship I early was taught to believe;
. . . .
I have found that a friend may profess, yet deceive.
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the read more
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers' vows
Seem sweet in every whispered word;
And gentle winds, and waters near,
Make music to the lonely ear.
Each flower the dews have lightly wet,
And in the sky the stars are met,
And on the wave is deeper blue,
And on the leaf a browner hue,
And in the heaven that clear obscure,
So softly dark, and darkly pure.
Which follows the decline of day,
As twilight melts beneath the moon away.
