George Gordon Noel Byron

O Rome! my country! city of the soul!

O Rome! my country! city of the soul!

"Farewell!"
For in that word--that fatal word--howe'er
We promise--hope--believe--there breathes despair.

"Farewell!"
For in that word--that fatal word--howe'er
We promise--hope--believe--there breathes despair.

Ye tuneful cobblers! still your notes prolong,
Compose at once a slipper and a song;
So shall read more

Ye tuneful cobblers! still your notes prolong,
Compose at once a slipper and a song;
So shall the fair your handiwork peruse,
Your sonnets sure shall please--perhaps your shoes.

And whispering, "I will ne'er consent," consented.

And whispering, "I will ne'er consent," consented.

In solitude, when we are least alone.

In solitude, when we are least alone.