George Gordon Noel Byron

What exile from himself can flee?
To zones, though more and more remote,
Still, still pursues, where'er read more

What exile from himself can flee?
To zones, though more and more remote,
Still, still pursues, where'er I be,
The blight of life--the demon Thought.

Brave men are all vertebrates; they have their softness on the
surface and their toughness in the middle.

Brave men are all vertebrates; they have their softness on the
surface and their toughness in the middle.

And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They read more

And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They have a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off our waking toils,
They do divide our being.

As the lone Angler, patient man,
At Mewry-Water, or the Banne,
Leaves off, against his placid wish,
read more

As the lone Angler, patient man,
At Mewry-Water, or the Banne,
Leaves off, against his placid wish,
Impaling worms to torture fish.

What gem hath dropp'd, and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
read more

What gem hath dropp'd, and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
That starts at once--bright pure--from Pity's mine,
Already polish'd by the hand divine!