George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
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.
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.
Yet still there whispers the small voice within,
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din;
Whatever read more
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.
There is a tide in the affairs of women
Which, taken at the flood, leads--God knows where.
There is a tide in the affairs of women
Which, taken at the flood, leads--God knows where.
Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.
Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.
So sweet the blush of bashfulness,
E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
So sweet the blush of bashfulness,
E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art,
For there thy habitation is read more
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art,
For there thy habitation is the heart--
The heart which love of thee alone can bind;
And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd--
To fetters and damp vault's dayless gloom,
Their country conquers with their martyrdom.
- Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron),
An infant when it gazes on a light,
A child the moment when it drains the breast,
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An infant when it gazes on a light,
A child the moment when it drains the breast,
A devotee when soars the Host in sight,
An Arab with a stranger for a guest,
A sailor when the prize has struck in fight,
A miser filling his most hoarded chest,
Feel rapture; but not such true joy are reaping
As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping.
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past--
For years fleet away with the wings of the read more
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past--
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove--
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.
Brave men were living before Agamemnon.
Brave men were living before Agamemnon.
