George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet.
On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet.
Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place!
Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place!
Endearing Waltz--to thy more melting tune
Bow Irish jig, and ancient rigadoon.
Scotch reels, avaunt! and country-dance read more
Endearing Waltz--to thy more melting tune
Bow Irish jig, and ancient rigadoon.
Scotch reels, avaunt! and country-dance forego
Your future claims to each fantastic toe!
Waltz--Waltz alone--both legs and arms demands,
Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands.
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.
Kathleen Mavourneen, the gray dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill,
read more
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?
Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)
Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire
Until read more
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.
The careful pilot of my proper woe.
The careful pilot of my proper woe.
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
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.
And circumstance, that unspiritual god,
And miscreator, makes and helps along
Our coming evils, with a critch-like read more
And circumstance, that unspiritual god,
And miscreator, makes and helps along
Our coming evils, with a critch-like rod,
Whose touch turns hope to dust--the dust we all have trod.
