George Gordon Noel Byron

Yon Sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and read more

Yon Sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native land--Good Night!

'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.

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?

. . . all who joy would win
Must share it.--Happiness was born a twin.

. . . all who joy would win
Must share it.--Happiness was born a twin.

A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
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A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping
In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping
On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy;
A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool's head--and there is London Town.