The blind old man of Scio's rocky isle. - Lord Byron

'Tis pleasure, sure, to see one's name in print;
A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.

İnsan yaşamı kadının göğüsünden doğar,
Onun dudaklarından öğrenirsiniz söylediğiniz ilk küçük sözcükleri,
İlk gözyaşınızı da silen odur;
Son saatinde, erkekler çekinirken küçük düşmekten
Kendilerine önderlik edene.

Titan! to thee the strife was given Between the suffering and the will, Which torture where they cannot kill; And the inexorable Heaven, And the deaf tyranny of Fate, The ruling principle of Hate, Which for its pleasure doth create The things it may annihilate, Refused thee even the boon to die: The wretched gift eternity Was thine — and thou hast borne it well. All that the Thunderer wrung from thee Was but the menace which flung back On him the torments of thy rack; The fate thou didst so well foresee, But would not to appease him tell; And in thy Silence was his Sentence, And in his Soul a vain repentance, And evil dread so ill dissembled, That in his hand the lightnings trembled.