George Gordon Noel Byron

Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
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Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life!
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray!

No Sane man will dance.

No Sane man will dance.

That all-softening, overpowering knell,
The tocsin of the soul--the dinner bell.

That all-softening, overpowering knell,
The tocsin of the soul--the dinner bell.

A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded,
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.

A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded,
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.

And history with all her volumes vast,
Hath but one page.

And history with all her volumes vast,
Hath but one page.