George Gordon Noel Byron

And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They read more

And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They have a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off our waking toils,
They do divide our being.

Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.

Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.

And to his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on read more

And to his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on him.

Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)
Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire
Until read more

Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)
Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire
Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise
Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire,
And love than either; and there would arise,
A something in them which was not desire,
But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul,
Which struggled through and chansten'd down the whole.

Men are the sport of circumstances, when
The circumstances seem the sport of men.

Men are the sport of circumstances, when
The circumstances seem the sport of men.