George Gordon Noel Byron

Thou who hast
The fatal gist of beauty.

Thou who hast
The fatal gist of beauty.

Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure;
Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.

Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure;
Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.

Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires
The young, makes Weariness forget his toil,
And Fear read more

Which cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires
The young, makes Weariness forget his toil,
And Fear her danger; opens a new world
When this, the present, palls.

But these are foolish things to all the wise,
And I love wisdom more than she loves me;
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But these are foolish things to all the wise,
And I love wisdom more than she loves me;
My tendency is to philosophise
On most things, from a tyrant to a tree;
But still the spouseless virgin Knowledge flies,
What are we? and whence come we? what shall be
Our ultimate existence? What's our present?
Are questions answerless, and yet incessant.

On, Amos Cottle!--Phoebus! what a name!

On, Amos Cottle!--Phoebus! what a name!