George Gordon Noel Byron

Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place!

Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place!

And angling too, that solitary vice,
What Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, read more

And angling too, that solitary vice,
What Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.

Come, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest.

Come, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest.

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.

My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, read more

My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
- Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron),