George Gordon Noel Byron
George Gordon Noel Byron 's Bio
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Born:31.01.2014
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Death:31.01.2014
Maxioms by George Gordon Noel Byron
I can't but say it is an awkward sight
To see one's native land receding through
The read more
I can't but say it is an awkward sight
To see one's native land receding through
The growing waters; it unmans one quite,
Especially when life is rather new.
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.
What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper:
Some read more
What is the end of Fame? 'tis but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper:
Some liken it to climbing up a hill,
Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour:
For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,
And bards burn what they call their "midnight taper,"
To have, when the original is dust,
A name, a wretched picture, and worse bust.
A man must serve his time to every trade
Save censure--critics all are ready made.
Take hackney'd read more
A man must serve his time to every trade
Save censure--critics all are ready made.
Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by rote,
With just enough of learning to misquote;
A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault;
A turn for punning, call it Attic salt;
To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet,
His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet;
Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a lucky hit;
Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit;
Care not for feeling--pass your proper jest,
And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd.
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,
And wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone.
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,
And wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone.