George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
I have not loved the world, not the world me;
I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd
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I have not loved the world, not the world me;
I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd
To its idolatries a patient knee.
Father of Light! great God of Heaven!
Hear'st thou the accents of despair?
Can guilt like man's read more
Father of Light! great God of Heaven!
Hear'st thou the accents of despair?
Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven?
Can vice atone for crimes by prayer?
Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.
Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.
I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me; and to me
High read more
I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me; and to me
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
Of human cities torture.
Dear authors! suit your topics to your strength,
And ponder well your subject, and its length;
Nor read more
Dear authors! suit your topics to your strength,
And ponder well your subject, and its length;
Nor lift your lad, before you're quite aware
What weight your shoulders will, or will not, bear.
Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.
Folly loves the martyrdom of Fame.
'Twas blow for blow, disputing inch by inch,
For one would not retreat, nor t'other flinch.
'Twas blow for blow, disputing inch by inch,
For one would not retreat, nor t'other flinch.
Exhausting thought,
And having wisdom with each studious year.
Exhausting thought,
And having wisdom with each studious year.
She walks the waters like a thing of life,
And seems to dare the elements to strife.
She walks the waters like a thing of life,
And seems to dare the elements to strife.
The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung.
Where grew the read more
The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung.
Where grew the arts of war and peace,--
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.
