George Gordon Noel Byron

But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws
So much, as when we call our old debts in
read more

But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws
So much, as when we call our old debts in
At sixty years, and draw the accounts of evil,
And find a deuced balance with the devil.

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that read more

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so."

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains--Beautiful!
I linger yet with read more

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops
Of the snow-shining mountains--Beautiful!
I linger yet with Nature, for the night
Hath been to me a more familiar face
Than that of man; and in her starry shade
Of dim and solitary loveliness
I learn'd the language of another world.

For most men (till by losing rendered sager)
Will back their own opinion is by a wager.

For most men (till by losing rendered sager)
Will back their own opinion is by a wager.

In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And read more

In the desert a fountain is springing,
In the wide waste there still is a tree,
And a bird in the solitude singing,
Which speaks to my spirit of thee.