George Gordon Noel Byron

There were his young barbarians all at play
There was their Dacian mother--he, their sire,
Butcher'd to read more

There were his young barbarians all at play
There was their Dacian mother--he, their sire,
Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday.

But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,
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But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,
And roam along, the world's tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless.

Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water!
Ye happy mixture of more happy days!

Oh, Mirth and Innocence! Oh, Milk and Water!
Ye happy mixture of more happy days!

Eternity forbids thee to forget.

Eternity forbids thee to forget.

Oh! nature's noblest gift--my gray-goose quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy read more

Oh! nature's noblest gift--my gray-goose quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent-bird to form a pen,
That might instrument of little men!