George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
Yet smelt roast meat, beheld a huge fire shine,
And cooks in motion with their clean arms bared.
Soprano, basso, even the contra-alto
Wished him five fathom under the Rialto.
Soprano, basso, even the contra-alto
Wished him five fathom under the Rialto.
Kind reader! take your choice to cry or laugh;
Here Harod lies--but where's his Epitaph?
If such read more
Kind reader! take your choice to cry or laugh;
Here Harod lies--but where's his Epitaph?
If such you seek, try Westminister, and view
Ten thousand, just as fit for him as you.
But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws
So much, as when we call our old debts in
read more
But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws
So much, as when we call our old debts in
At sixty years, and draw the accounts of evil,
And find a deuced balance with the devil.
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!
An infant when it gazes on a light,
A child the moment when it drains the breast,
read more
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.
Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honour'd race.
Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honour'd race.
'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue
By female lips and eyes--that is, I mean,
read more
'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue
By female lips and eyes--that is, I mean,
When both the teacher and the taught are young,
As was the case, at least, where I have been;
They smile so when one's right; and when one's wrong
They smile still more.
Hark! to the hurried question of Despair
"Where is my child?"--An echo answers--
"Where?"
Hark! to the hurried question of Despair
"Where is my child?"--An echo answers--
"Where?"
Cooped in their winged sea-girt citadel.
Cooped in their winged sea-girt citadel.
