George Gordon Noel Byron

How chang'd since last her speaking eye
Glanc'd gladness round the glitt'ring room,
Where high-born men were read more

How chang'd since last her speaking eye
Glanc'd gladness round the glitt'ring room,
Where high-born men were proud to wait--
Where Beauty watched to imitate.

Friendship is Love without his wings!

Friendship is Love without his wings!

He has grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life.
read more

He has grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life.
So that no wonder waits him.

But every fool describes, in these bright days,
His wondrous journey to some foreign court,
And spawns read more

But every fool describes, in these bright days,
His wondrous journey to some foreign court,
And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,--
Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport.

So well she acted all and every part
By turns--with that vivacious versatility,
Which many people take read more

So well she acted all and every part
By turns--with that vivacious versatility,
Which many people take for want of heart.
They err--'tis merely what is call'd mobility,
A thing of temperament and not of art,
Though seeming so, from its supposed facility;
And false--though true; for surely they're sincerest
Who are strongly acted on by what is nearest.