George Gordon Noel Byron

Perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save.

Perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save.

Whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought and softly bodied forth.

Whatsoe'er thy birth,
Thou wert a beautiful thought and softly bodied forth.

And gazed around them to the left and right
With the prophetic eye of appetite.

And gazed around them to the left and right
With the prophetic eye of appetite.

Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place!

Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place!

My heart is feminine, nor can forget--
To all, except one image, madly blind;
So shakes the read more

My heart is feminine, nor can forget--
To all, except one image, madly blind;
So shakes the needle, and so stands the pole,
As vibrates my fond heart to my fix'd soul.