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.

Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can read more

Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

The music, and the banquet, and the wine--
The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers,
The read more

The music, and the banquet, and the wine--
The garlands, the rose odors, and the flowers,
The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments--
The white arms and the raven hair--the braids,
And bracelets; swan-like bosoms, and the necklace,
An India in itself, yet dazzling not.

Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque read more

Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy.

And then he danced;--all foreigners excel
The serious Angles in the eloquence
Of pantomime;--he danced, I say read more

And then he danced;--all foreigners excel
The serious Angles in the eloquence
Of pantomime;--he danced, I say right well,
With emphasis, and also with good sense--
A thing in footing indispensable:
He danced without theatrical pretence,
Not like a ballet-master in the van
Of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.