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Lord Byron -
Don Juan
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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.
Lord Byron
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Nothing can confound a wise man more than laughter from a dunce.
Lord Byron
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Tis pleasing to be school'd in a strange tongue By female lips and eyes--that is, I mean, When both the teacher and the taught are young, As was the case, at least, where I have been; They smile so when one's right; and when one's wrong They smile still more.
Lord Byron
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When Newton saw an apple fall, he found In that slight startle from his contemplation- 'Tis said (for I'll not answer above ground For any sage's creed or calculation)- A mode of proving that the earth turn'd round In a most natural whirl, called 'gravitation'; And this is the sole mortal who could grapple, Since Adam, with a fall, or with an apple.
Lord Byron
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Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down Over the waste of waters; like a veil, Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail.
Lord Byron
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A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony.
Lord Byron
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Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction: if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange! How differently the world would men behold!
Lord Byron
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'Tis strange—but true; for truth is always strange;
Stranger than fiction.
Lord Byron
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But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.
Lord Byron
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And thus they form a group that's quite antique,
Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek.
Lord Byron
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There's not a sea the passenger e'er pukes in, Turns up more dangerous breakers than the Euxine.
Lord Byron
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Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.
Lord Byron
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Earth! render back from out thy breast
a remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae!
Lord Byron
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Read your own hearts and Ireland's present story,
Then feed her famine fat with Wellesley's glory.
Lord Byron
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What is the end of fame? 'tis but to fill A certain portion of uncertain paper: Some liken it to climbing up a hill, Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapor.
Lord Byron
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Now my sere fancy 'falls into the yellow
Leaf,' and imagination droops her pinion,
And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk
Turns what was once romantic to burlesque.
Lord Byron
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…That all-softening, overpowering knell,
The tocsin of the soul—the dinner bell.
Lord Byron
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'Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come.
Lord Byron
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A drowsy frowzy poem, called the 'Excursion',
Writ in a manner which is my aversion.
Lord Byron
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Let no man grumble when his friends fall off, As they will do like leaves at the first breeze; When your affairs come round, one way or t'other, Go to the coffee house, and take another.
Lord Byron
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A lady of a 'certain age', which means
Certainly aged.
Lord Byron
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Milton's the prince of poets—so we say;
A little heavy, but no less divine.
Lord Byron
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The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set!
Lord Byron
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Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of prayer!
Ave Maria! 'tis the hour of love!
Lord Byron
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How little do we know that which we are!
How less what we may be!
Lord Byron
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Quote of the day
At last, in 1611, was made, under the auspices of King James, the famous King James version; and this is the great literary monument of the English language.
Lafcadio Hearn
Lord Byron
Creative Commons
Born:
January 22, 1788
Died:
April 19, 1824
(aged 36)
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