George Gordon Noel Byron

The best of prophets of the future is the past.

The best of prophets of the future is the past.

He has grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life.
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He has grown aged in this world of woe,
In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life.
So that no wonder waits him.

For Freedom's battle once begun,
Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft is ever won.

For Freedom's battle once begun,
Bequeath'd by bleeding sire to son,
Though baffled oft is ever won.

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung.
Where grew the read more

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung.
Where grew the arts of war and peace,--
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.

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."