Man. (alone). We are the fools of Time and Terror: Days
Steal on us, and steal from us; yet we live,
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.
In… - Lord Byron
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Man. (alone). We are the fools of Time and Terror: Days Steal on us, and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die. In all the days of this detested yoke — This vital weight upon the struggling heart, Which sinks with sorrow, or beats quick with pain, Or joy that ends in agony or faintness — 170 In all the days of past and future — for In life there is no present — we can number How few — how less than few — wherein the soul Forbears to pant for death, and yet draws back As from a stream in winter, though the chill Be but a moment’s.
George Gordon (Noel) Byron, 6th Baron Byron (January 22 1788 – April 19 1824), generally known as Lord Byron, was an English poet and leading figure in Romanticism. He was the father of the mathematician Ada Lovelace.
Biography information from
Wikiquote·
Portrait adapted from
Wikimedia Commons, Thomas Phillips (Public domain / CC0)
Also Known As
Birth Name:
George Gordon Byron
Alternative Names:
George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron
•
Noel Byron
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George Gordon Byron Lord
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George Gordon Byron, 6th Lord Byron
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.
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If she loved rashly, her life paid for wrong — A heavy price must all pay who thus err, In some shape; let none think to fly the danger, For soon or late Love is his own avenger.
