George Gordon Noel Byron

In Venice, Tass's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling read more

In Venice, Tass's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear.

Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.

Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.

I have not loved the world, not the world me;
I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd
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I have not loved the world, not the world me;
I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd
To its idolatries a patient knee.

A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!

A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!

Such parting break the heart they fondly hope to heal.

Such parting break the heart they fondly hope to heal.