George Gordon Noel Byron

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that read more

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so."

Hereditary bondsmen! Know ye not
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?

Hereditary bondsmen! Know ye not
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?

Thou who hast
The fatal gist of beauty.

Thou who hast
The fatal gist of beauty.

Men freely believe that which they wish to be the truth.

Men freely believe that which they wish to be the truth.

But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces
read more

But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.