George Gordon Noel Byron

Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs.

Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs.

And her face so fair
Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.

And her face so fair
Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.

If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to
himself . . . that a tiger is an optical read more

If a man proves too clearly and convincingly to
himself . . . that a tiger is an optical illusion--well, he will
find out he is wrong. The tiger will himself intervene in the
discussion, in a manner which will be in every sense conclusive.

Better to sink beneath the shock
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock!

Better to sink beneath the shock
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock!

And nearer as they came, a genial savour
Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus.
Things which read more

And nearer as they came, a genial savour
Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus.
Things which in hungry mortals' eyes find favour.