Lord Byron Quotes

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,
Bequeath'd the name of Washington,
To make man blush there was but one!

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.

Near this spot
Are deposited the Remains of one
Who possessed Beauty without Vanity,
Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the virtues of Man, without his Vices.
This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery
If inscribed over human ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of
BOATSWAIN, a DOG

In secret we met
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half brokenhearted,
To sever for years.

I only know we loved in vain;
I only feel — farewell! farewell!

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer
For other's weal avail'd on high,
Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.

When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove— The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.

Are not the mountains, waves, and skies a part
Of me and of my soul, as I of them?
Is not the love of these deep in my heart
With a pure passion? should I not contemn
All objects, if compared with these? and stem
A tide of suffering, rather than forego
Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm
Of those whose eyes are only turned below,
Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare not glow?

Oh, Time! Why dost not pause? Thy scythe, so dirty
With rust, should surely cease to hack and hew.
Reset it; shave more smoothly, also slower,
If but to keep thy credit as a mower.

Oh, foolish mortals! Always taught in vain!
Oh, glorious laurel! since for one sole leaf
Of thine imaginary deathless tree,
Of blood and tears must flow the unebbing sea.

What a strange thing is man! and what a stranger
Is woman! What a whirlwind is her head,
And what a whirl-pool full of depth and danger
Is all the rest about her! Whether wed,
Or widow, maid or mother, she can change her
Mind like the wind: whatever she has said
Or done, is light to what she’ll say or do; — The oldest thing on record, and yet new!