George Gordon Noel Byron

'Twas blow for blow, disputing inch by inch,
For one would not retreat, nor t'other flinch.

'Twas blow for blow, disputing inch by inch,
For one would not retreat, nor t'other flinch.

And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but
The truth in masquerade.

And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but
The truth in masquerade.

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

He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer;--
In short, there never was a better hearer.

He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer;--
In short, there never was a better hearer.

Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms,
And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine,
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Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms,
And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine,
To hail his father; while his little form
Flutters as winged with joy. Talk not of pain!
The childless cherubs well might envy thee
The pleasures of a parent.