Censure no more shall brand my humble name The child of passion and the fool of fame - Lord Byron

Better to sink beneath the shock
Than moulder piecemeal on the rock.

Light be the turf of thy tomb!
May its verdure like emeralds be:
There should not be the shadow of gloom
In aught that reminds us of thee:
Young flowers, and an evergreen tree
May spring from the spot of thy rest;
But not cypress nor yew let us see;
For why should we mourn for the blest?

It is the hour when from the boughs The nightingale's high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers' vows Seem sweet in every whisper'd word.