George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
In Venice, Tass's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling read more
In Venice, Tass's echoes are no more,
And silent rows the songless gondolier;
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,
And music meets not always now the ear.
When health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing,
And flies with every changing gale of spring.
When health, affrighted, spreads her rosy wing,
And flies with every changing gale of spring.
A quiet conscience makes one so serene!
Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded
That all the read more
A quiet conscience makes one so serene!
Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded
That all the Apostles would have done as they did.
So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
Viewed read more
So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quivered in his heart.
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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.
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.
There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in,
Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.
Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can read more
Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies!
If captains the remark, or critics, make,
Why they read more
I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies!
If captains the remark, or critics, make,
Why they lie also--under a mistake.
