George Gordon Noel Byron

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that read more

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so."

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.

The heart ran o'er
With silent worship of the great of old!--
The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, read more

The heart ran o'er
With silent worship of the great of old!--
The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule
Our spirits from their urns.

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,
And there hath been thy bane.

But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell,
And there hath been thy bane.

I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing
trivial.

I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing
trivial.