George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon,
A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon,
Condemn'd to drudge, the read more
A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon,
A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon,
Condemn'd to drudge, the meanest of the mean,
And furbish falsehoods for a magazine.
Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler,
And daughters sometimes run off with the butler.
Wives in their husbands' absences grow subtler,
And daughters sometimes run off with the butler.
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before;
read more
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; darkness had no need
Of aid from them--she was the Universe.
In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.
In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.
'Tis solitude should teach us how to die;
It hath no flatterers; vanity can give
No hollow read more
'Tis solitude should teach us how to die;
It hath no flatterers; vanity can give
No hollow aid; alone--man with his God must strive.
My boat is on the shore,
And my bark is on the sea:
But, before I go, read more
My boat is on the shore,
And my bark is on the sea:
But, before I go, Tom Moore,
Here's a double health to thee!
And nearer as they came, a genial savour
Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus.
Things which read more
And nearer as they came, a genial savour
Of certain stews, and roast-meats, and pilaus.
Things which in hungry mortals' eyes find favour.
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things read more
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee.
Oh! nature's noblest gift--my gray-goose quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy read more
Oh! nature's noblest gift--my gray-goose quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent-bird to form a pen,
That might instrument of little men!
Some are soon bagg'd but some reject three dozen.
'Tis fine to see them scattering refusals
And read more
Some are soon bagg'd but some reject three dozen.
'Tis fine to see them scattering refusals
And wild dismay, o'er every angry cousin
(Friends of the party) who begin accusals,
Such as--"Unless Miss (Blank) meant to have chosen
Poor Frederick, why did she accord perusals
To his billets? Why waltz with him? Why, I pray,
Look yes least night, and yet say No to-day?"
