George Gordon Noel Byron

His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven,
His back to earth, his face to heaven.

His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven,
His back to earth, his face to heaven.

She walks the waters like a thing of life,
And seems to dare the elements to strife.

She walks the waters like a thing of life,
And seems to dare the elements to strife.

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.

Come, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest.

Come, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest.

What exile from himself can flee?
To zones, though more and more remote,
Still, still pursues, where'er read more

What exile from himself can flee?
To zones, though more and more remote,
Still, still pursues, where'er I be,
The blight of life--the demon Thought.