George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
O Fame!--if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
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O Fame!--if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
His speech was a fine sample, on the whole,
Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call "rigmarole."
His speech was a fine sample, on the whole,
Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call "rigmarole."
For most men (till by losing rendered sager)
Will back their own opinion is by a wager.
For most men (till by losing rendered sager)
Will back their own opinion is by a wager.
But yet she listen'd--'tis enough--
Who listens once will listen twice;
Her heart, be sure, is not read more
But yet she listen'd--'tis enough--
Who listens once will listen twice;
Her heart, be sure, is not of ice,
And one refusal no rebuff.
She was a good deal shock'd; not shock'd at tears,
For women shed and use them at their liking;
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She was a good deal shock'd; not shock'd at tears,
For women shed and use them at their liking;
But there is something when man's eye appears
Wet, still more disagreeable and striking.
Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!
Ah! happy years! once more who would not be a boy!
Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque read more
Venice once was dear,
The pleasant place of all festivity,
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy.
Men are the sport of circumstances, when
The circumstances seem the sport of men.
Men are the sport of circumstances, when
The circumstances seem the sport of men.
And her face so fair
Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.
And her face so fair
Stirr'd with her dream, as rose-leaves with the air.
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing save the waves and I
May hear our mutual read more
Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing save the waves and I
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swan-like, let me sing and die.
