Lord Byron

"Bring forth the horse!" — the horse was brought; In truth, he was a noble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, Who look'd as though the speed of thought Were in his limbs.

Were't the last drop in the well, As I gasp'd upon the brink, Ere my fainting spirit fell 'T is to thee that I would drink.

Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate: And, whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate.

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea; But, before I go, Tom Moore. Here's a double health to thee!

As the liberty lads o'er the sea Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood, So we, boys, we Shall die fighting or live free, And down with all kings but King Ludd!

The careful pilot of my proper woe.

In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee.

Though the day of my Destiny's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me.

There 's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.

A light broke in upon my brain, — It was the carol of a bird; It ceased, and then it came again, The sweetest song ear ever heard.

Oh, God! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood.

My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears.

Fare thee well! and if forever, Still forever, fare thee well: Even though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.

My great comfort is, that the temporary celebrity I have wrung from the world has been in the very teeth of all opinions and prejudices. I have flattered no ruling powers; I have never concealed a single thought that tempted me.

Who knows whether, when a comet shall approach this globe to destroy it, as it often has been and will be destroyed, men will not tear rocks from their foundations by means of steam, and hurl mountains, as the giants are said to have done, …

You are the fools, not I — for I did dwell With a deep thought, and with a softened eye, On that Old Sexton's natural homily, In which there was Obscurity and Fame, The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.

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,

If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.

And thou wert lovely to the last, Extinguish'd, not decay'd; As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high.

The love where Death has set his seal, Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, Nor falsehood disavow.

Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh give me back my heart!

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend.