George Gordon Noel Byron

Her years
Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs;
But there are forms which Time to touch read more

Her years
Were ripe, they might make six-and-twenty springs;
But there are forms which Time to touch forbears.
And turns aside his scythe to vulgar things.

The power of Thought,--the magic of the Mind!

The power of Thought,--the magic of the Mind!

Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong.

Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?
The hearts bleed longest, and but heal to wear
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What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?
The hearts bleed longest, and but heal to wear
That which disfigures it.

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.