George Gordon Noel Byron

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep,
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.

All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep,
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.

"Darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,"
As some one somewhere sings about the sky.

"Darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,"
As some one somewhere sings about the sky.

Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
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Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
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Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed
That knows his rider.