George Gordon Noel Byron

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.

Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred read more

Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae!

Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its read more

Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

Among them, but not of them.

Among them, but not of them.

I have not loved the world, not the world me;
I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd
read more

I have not loved the world, not the world me;
I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd
To its idolatries a patient knee.