George Gordon Noel Byron

And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but
The truth in masquerade.

And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but
The truth in masquerade.

Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul?
Gone--glimmering read more

Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul?
Gone--glimmering through the dream of things that were;
First in the race that led to glory's goal,
They won, and pass'd away--Is this the whole?

She walks in beauty like the night
Of cloudless chimes and starry skies;
And all that's best read more

She walks in beauty like the night
Of cloudless chimes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

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.

In solitude, when we are least alone.

In solitude, when we are least alone.