Lord Byron - Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

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With flowing tail and flying mane,
Wide nostrils never stretched by pain,
Mouth bloodless to bit or rein,
And feet that iron never shod,
And flanks unscar'd by spur or rod,
A thousand horses - the wild - the free -
Like waves that follow o'er the sea,
Came thickly thundering on.

Lord Byron
Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.

Lord Byron
Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister

Lord Byron
While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand;
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall;
And when Rome falls—the World.

Lord Byron
The moon is up, and yet it is not night;
Sunset divides the sky with her—a sea
Of glory streams along the Alpine height
Of blue Friuli's mountains; Heaven is free
From clouds, but of all colours seems to be
Melted to one vast Iris of the West,
Where the day joins the past eternity.

Lord Byron
I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture.

Lord Byron
I awoke one morning and found myself famous.

Lord Byron
None are so desolate but something dear,
Dearer than self, possesses or possessed
A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.

Lord Byron
But life will suit
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit,
Like to the apples on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste.

Lord Byron
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs:
A palace and a prison on each hand.

Lord Byron
A ruin—yet what ruin! from its mass
Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been reared.

Lord Byron
Italia! oh Italia! thou who hast
The fatal gift of beauty.

Lord Byron
All tenantless, save to the crannying wind.

Lord Byron
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.

Lord Byron
Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue.

Lord Byron
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite.

Lord Byron
Oh! that the desert were my dwelling place.

Lord Byron
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow—
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Lord Byron
Years steal
Fire from the mind as vigor from the limb;
And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

Lord Byron
The beings of the mind are not of clay;
Essentially immortal, they create And multiply in us a brighter ray And more beloved existence.

Lord Byron
The Niobe of nations! there she stands,
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe.

Lord Byron
Dark-heaving;—boundless, endless, and sublime—
The image of eternity.
Of the sea

Lord Byron
I stood
Among them, but not of them; in a shroud
Of thoughts which were not their thoughts.

Lord Byron
Dark Sappho! could not verse immortal save
That breast imbued with such immortal fire?
Could she not live who life eternal gave?

Lord Byron
Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift
My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a gift.

Lord Byron
What is the worst of woes that wait on age?
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow?
To view each loved one blotted from life's page,
And be alone on earth, as I am now.

Lord Byron
To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind.

Lord Byron
Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunderstorm against the wind.

Lord Byron
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.
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Lord Byron
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin—his control
Stops with the shore.

Lord Byron