Lord Byron - Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

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All tenantless, save to the crannying wind.

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

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
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
And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.

Lord Byron
The Lord of the unerring bow,
The God of life, and poesy, and light.

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

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

Lord Byron
Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?

Lord Byron
The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

Lord Byron
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
War, war is still the cry, "War even to the knife!"

Lord Byron
But there are wanderers o'er Eternity Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be.

Lord Byron
I awoke one morning and found myself famous.

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

Lord Byron
Where'er we tread 'tis haunted, holy ground.

Lord Byron
She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean,
Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion,
A ruler of the waters and their powers.

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
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.

Lord Byron
Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not
Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?

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

Lord Byron
As winds come whispering lightly from the West, Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene.

Lord Byron
And Harold stands upon this place of skulls.

Lord Byron
The sky is changed,-and such a change! O night And storm and darkness! ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder.

Lord Byron