George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms,
And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine,
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Look! how he laughs and stretches out his arms,
And opens wide his blue eyes upon thine,
To hail his father; while his little form
Flutters as winged with joy. Talk not of pain!
The childless cherubs well might envy thee
The pleasures of a parent.
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
I love the language, that soft bastard Latin,
Which melts like kisses from a female mouth.
I love the language, that soft bastard Latin,
Which melts like kisses from a female mouth.
But every fool describes, in these bright days,
His wondrous journey to some foreign court,
And spawns read more
But every fool describes, in these bright days,
His wondrous journey to some foreign court,
And spawns his quarto, and demands your praise,--
Death to his publisher, to him 'tis sport.
Brave men are all vertebrates; they have their softness on the
surface and their toughness in the middle.
Brave men are all vertebrates; they have their softness on the
surface and their toughness in the middle.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand;
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I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand;
I saw from out the wave of her structure's rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying Glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Look'd to the winged Lion's marble pines,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall;
And when Rome falls--the World.
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall;
And when Rome falls--the World.
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.
Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that read more
Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe,
Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast;
Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so."
Like the lost pleiad seen no more below.
Like the lost pleiad seen no more below.
