George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,
An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her Beauty and read more
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.
I die,--but first I have possess'd,
And come what may, I have been bless'd.
I die,--but first I have possess'd,
And come what may, I have been bless'd.
Jack was embarrassed--never hero more,
And as he knew not what to say, he swore.
Jack was embarrassed--never hero more,
And as he knew not what to say, he swore.
'Tis an old lesson; time approves it true,
And those who know it best, deplore it most;
read more
'Tis an old lesson; time approves it true,
And those who know it best, deplore it most;
When all is won that all desire to woo,
The paltry prize is hardly worth the cost.
And if I laugh at any mortal thing,
'Tis that I may not weep.
And if I laugh at any mortal thing,
'Tis that I may not weep.
While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air.
While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air.
Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
Ah, nut-brown partridges! Ah, brilliant pheasants!
And ah, ye poachers!--'Tis no sport for peasants.
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow,
Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow,
Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation,
And for the bass, the beast can only bellow;
In read more
The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation,
And for the bass, the beast can only bellow;
In fact, he had no singing education,
An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow.
