George Gordon Noel Byron

She bears her down majestically near,
Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier.

She bears her down majestically near,
Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?
The hearts bleed longest, and but heal to wear
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What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?
The hearts bleed longest, and but heal to wear
That which disfigures it.

And hold up to the sun my little taper.

And hold up to the sun my little taper.

Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.

Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.

Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong.

Solitary trees, if they grow at all, grow strong.