George Gordon Noel Byron

That famish'd people must be slowly nurst,
And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

That famish'd people must be slowly nurst,
And fed by spoonfuls, else they always burst.

Among them, but not of them.

Among them, but not of them.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her Beauty and read more

There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.

I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one.

I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one.