George Gordon Noel Byron

As winds come whispering lightly from the West,
Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.

As winds come whispering lightly from the West,
Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.

The mellow autumn came, and with it came
The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
The corn read more

The mellow autumn came, and with it came
The promised party, to enjoy its sweets.
The corn is cut, the manor full of game;
The pointer ranges, and the sportsman beats
In russet jacket;--lynx-like is his aim;
Full grows his bag, and wonderful his feats.
An, nutbrown partridges! An, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.

There is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self condemn'd
He deals on his read more

There is no future pang
Can deal that justice on the self condemn'd
He deals on his own soul.

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!

Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!

I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me,
read more

I have a passion for the name of "Mary,"
For once it was a magic sound to me,
And still it half calls up the realms of fairy,
Where I beheld what never was to be.