George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve read more
I depart,
Whither I know not; but the hour's gone by
When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad mine eye.
From the mingled strength of shade and light
A new creation rises to my sight,
Such heav'nly read more
From the mingled strength of shade and light
A new creation rises to my sight,
Such heav'nly figures from his pencil flow,
So warm with light his blended colors glow.
. . . .
The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring
Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring.
And be the Spartan's epitaph on me--
"Sparta hath many a worthier son than he."
And be the Spartan's epitaph on me--
"Sparta hath many a worthier son than he."
He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer;--
In short, there never was a better hearer.
He ne'er presumed to make an error clearer;--
In short, there never was a better hearer.
Like a lovely tree
She grew to womanhood, and between whiles
Rejected several suitors, just to learn
read more
Like a lovely tree
She grew to womanhood, and between whiles
Rejected several suitors, just to learn
How to accept a better in his turn.
Where may the wearied eye repose,
When gazing on the Great;
Where neither guilty glory glows,
read more
Where may the wearied eye repose,
When gazing on the Great;
Where neither guilty glory glows,
Nor despicable state?
Yes--one the first, the last, the best,
The Cincinnatus of the West
Whom envy dared not hate,
Bequeathed the name of Washington
To make man blush; there was but one.
Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs.
Not much he kens, I ween, of woman's breast,
Who thinks that wanton thing is won by sighs.
Of all
The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show
Who car'd about the corpse? read more
Of all
The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show
Who car'd about the corpse? The funeral
Made the attraction, and the black the woe;
There throbb'd not there a thought which pierc'd the pall.
A mere court butterfly,
That flutters in the pageant of a monarch.
A mere court butterfly,
That flutters in the pageant of a monarch.
Fare thee well! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well.
Fare thee well! and if for ever,
Still for ever, fare thee well.
