George Gordon Noel Byron

But these are foolish things to all the wise,
And I love wisdom more than she loves me;
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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.

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.

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow,
Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow,
Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Hereditary bondsmen! Know ye not
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?

Hereditary bondsmen! Know ye not
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?

For talk six times with the same single lady,
And you may get the wedding dress ready.

For talk six times with the same single lady,
And you may get the wedding dress ready.