George Gordon Noel Byron

Come, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest.

Come, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand;
read more

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand;
I saw from out the wave of her structure's rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying Glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Look'd to the winged Lion's marble pines,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.

Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried?

Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried?

A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
read more

A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping
In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping
On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy;
A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool's head--and there is London Town.