George Gordon Noel Byron

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

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

Ye tuneful cobblers! still your notes prolong,
Compose at once a slipper and a song;
So shall read more

Ye tuneful cobblers! still your notes prolong,
Compose at once a slipper and a song;
So shall the fair your handiwork peruse,
Your sonnets sure shall please--perhaps your shoes.

May Moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill,
And tailors' lays be longer than their bill!
While punctual beaux read more

May Moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill,
And tailors' lays be longer than their bill!
While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes,
And pay for poems--when they pay for coats.

Such hath it been--shall be--beneath the sun
The many still must labour for the one.

Such hath it been--shall be--beneath the sun
The many still must labour for the one.

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.