George Gordon Noel Byron

What gem hath dropp'd, and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
read more

What gem hath dropp'd, and sparkles o'er his chain?
The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
That starts at once--bright pure--from Pity's mine,
Already polish'd by the hand divine!

He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer;--
In short, there never was a better hearer.

He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer;--
In short, there never was a better hearer.

And these vicissitudes come best in youth;
For when they happen at a riper age,
People are read more

And these vicissitudes come best in youth;
For when they happen at a riper age,
People are apt to blame the Fates, forsooth,
And wonder Providence is not more sage.
Adversity is the first path to truth:
He who hath proved war, storm, or woman's rage,
Whether his winters be eighteen or eighty,
Has won experience which is deem'd so weighty.

With more capacity for love than earth
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
His early read more

With more capacity for love than earth
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth,
His early dreams of good out-stripp'd the truth,
And troubled manhood follow'd baffled youth.

How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
In their pure incarnation, vying with
The rose leaves strewn read more

How lovely he appears! his little cheeks
In their pure incarnation, vying with
The rose leaves strewn beneath them.
And his lips, too,
How beautifully parted! No; you shall not
Kiss him; at least not now; he will wake soon--
His hour of midday rest is nearly over.