Few are my years, and, yet, I feel The World was ne’er design’d for me: Ah! why do dark’ning shades conceal The hour when man must cease to be? Once … - Lord Byron

Divine in hookas, glorious in a pipe
When tipp'd with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe; Like other charmers, wooing the caress
More dazzlingly when daring in full dress; Yet thy true lovers more admire by far
Thy naked beauties—give me a cigar!

Society is now one polish’d horde,
Form’d of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all
A heart whose love is innocent!