George Gordon Noel Byron

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

Endearing Waltz--to thy more melting tune
Bow Irish jig, and ancient rigadoon.
Scotch reels, avaunt! and country-dance read more

Endearing Waltz--to thy more melting tune
Bow Irish jig, and ancient rigadoon.
Scotch reels, avaunt! and country-dance forego
Your future claims to each fantastic toe!
Waltz--Waltz alone--both legs and arms demands,
Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands.

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it,
For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it,
For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear--
In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
That weapon of her weakness she can read more

Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear--
In woman's eye the unanswerable tear!
That weapon of her weakness she can wield,
To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.

When health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing,
And flies with every changing gale of spring.

When health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing,
And flies with every changing gale of spring.