George Gordon Noel Byron

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print;
A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print;
A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.

Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.

Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.

It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
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It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
Which then seems as if the whole earth is bounded,
Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still,
With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded
On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill
Upon the other, and the rosy sky
With one star sparkling through it like an eye.

Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.

Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.

The careful pilot of my proper woe.

The careful pilot of my proper woe.