George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious queen of childish joys,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,
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Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious queen of childish joys,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,
Thy votive train of girls and boys.
A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
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A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping
In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping
On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy;
A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool's head--and there is London Town.
But owned that smile, if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer.
But owned that smile, if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer.
Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease,
He makes a solitude and calls it--peace!
Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease,
He makes a solitude and calls it--peace!
Right--that will do for the marines.
Right--that will do for the marines.
Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
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It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded
Red sun sinks down behind the azure hill,
Which then seems as if the whole earth is bounded,
Circling all nature, hush'd, and dim, and still,
With the far mountain-crescent half surrounded
On one side, and the deep sea calm and chill
Upon the other, and the rosy sky
With one star sparkling through it like an eye.
And wrinkles, the d--d democrats, won't flatter.
And wrinkles, the d--d democrats, won't flatter.
And gazed around them to the left and right
With the prophetic eye of appetite.
And gazed around them to the left and right
With the prophetic eye of appetite.
Yet still there whispers the small voice within,
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din;
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Yet still there whispers the small voice within,
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din;
Whatever creed be taught or land be trod,
Man's conscience is the oracle of God.
