George Gordon Noel Byron

I love the language, that soft bastard Latin,
Which melts like kisses from a female mouth.

I love the language, that soft bastard Latin,
Which melts like kisses from a female mouth.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

. . . Years steal
Fire from the mind, as vigor from the limb;
And life's enchanted read more

. . . Years steal
Fire from the mind, as vigor from the limb;
And life's enchanted cut but sparkles near the brim.

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.

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep,
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep,
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.