George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
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?"
Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place!
Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place!
Come, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest.
Come, lay thy head upon my breast,
And I will kiss thee into rest.
That each pull'd different ways with many an oath,
"Arcades ambo," id est--blackguards both.
That each pull'd different ways with many an oath,
"Arcades ambo," id est--blackguards both.
'Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue
By female lips and eyes--that is, I mean,
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'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.
Kathleen Mavourneen, the gray dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill,
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Kathleen Mavourneen, the gray dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill,
The lark from her light wing the bright dew is shaking--
Kathleen Mavourneen, what, slumbering, still?
Oh hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever?
Oh hast thou forgotten this day we must part?
It may be for years and it may be forever;
Oh why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?
That all-softening, overpowering knell,
The tocsin of the soul--the dinner bell.
That all-softening, overpowering knell,
The tocsin of the soul--the dinner bell.
The careful pilot of my proper woe.
The careful pilot of my proper woe.
Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)
Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire
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Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)
Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire
Until she spoke, then through its soft disguise
Flash'd an expression more of pride than ire,
And love than either; and there would arise,
A something in them which was not desire,
But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul,
Which struggled through and chansten'd down the whole.
