George Gordon Noel Byron

Think not I am what I appear.

Think not I am what I appear.

From the mingled strength of shade and light
A new creation rises to my sight,
Such heav'nly read more

From the mingled strength of shade and light
A new creation rises to my sight,
Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with light his blended colors glow.
. . . .
The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring
Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring.

The mellow autumn came, and with it came
The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
The corn read more

The mellow autumn came, and with it came
The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
The corn is cut, the manor full of game;
The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats
In russet jacket;--lynx-like is his aim;
Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats.
An, nutbrown partridges! An, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.

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.

With more capacity for love than earth
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
His early read more

With more capacity for love than earth
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
His early dreams of good out-stripp'd the truth,
And troubled manhood follow'd baffled youth.