George Gordon Noel Byron

On, Amos Cottle!--Phoebus! what a name!

On, Amos Cottle!--Phoebus! what a name!

Ah! were I sever'd from thy side,
Where were thy friend and who my guide?
Years have read more

Ah! were I sever'd from thy side,
Where were thy friend and who my guide?
Years have not seen, Time shall not see
The hour that tears my soul from thee.

For the night
Shows stars and women in a better light.

For the night
Shows stars and women in a better light.

In solitude, when we are least alone.

In solitude, when we are least alone.

Sorrow preys upon
Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it
From its sad visions of the other read more

Sorrow preys upon
Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it
From its sad visions of the other world
Than calling it at moments back to this.
The busy have no time for tears.