George Gordon Noel Byron

As winds come whispering lightly from the West,
Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.

As winds come whispering lightly from the West,
Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.

How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
In their pure incarnation, vying with
The rose leaves strewn read more

How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
In their pure incarnation, vying with
The rose leaves strewn beneath them.
And his lips, too,
How beautifully parted! No; you shall not
Kiss him; at least not now; he will wake soon--
His hour of midday rest is nearly over.

Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,
read more

Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
Now melt into sorrow, now madded to crime?

I am not now
That which I have been.

I am not now
That which I have been.

And if I laugh at any mortal thing,
'Tis that I may not weep.

And if I laugh at any mortal thing,
'Tis that I may not weep.