George Gordon Noel Byron

For I am a weed,
Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail,
Where'er the surge read more

For I am a weed,
Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam, to sail,
Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail.

Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.

Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.

In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.

In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.

Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No,"
And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
read more

Such is your cold coquette, who can't say "No,"
And won't say "Yes," and keeps you on and off-ing
On a lee-shore, till it begins to blow,
Then sees your heart wreck'd, with an inward scoffing.

Some hoisted out the boats, and there was one
That begged Pedrillo for an absolution
Who told read more

Some hoisted out the boats, and there was one
That begged Pedrillo for an absolution
Who told him to be damn'd,--in his confusion.