Quotes
Quotes - Lord Byron
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.
I only know we loved in vain;
I only feel--farewell! farewell!
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years.
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
'T is pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print;
A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.
With just enough of learning to misquote.
As soon
Seek roses in December, ice in June;
Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;
Believe a woman or an epitaph,
Or any other thing that's false, before
You trust in critics.
Perverts the Prophets and purloins the Psalms.
Oh, Amos Cottle! Phoebus! what a name!
So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart.
Yet truth will sometimes lend her noblest fires,
And decorate the verse herself inspires:
This fact, in virtue's name, let Crabbe attest,--
Though Nature's sternest painter, yet the best.
Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, oh give me back my heart!
Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.
Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.
Might shake the saintship of an anchorite.
Adieu! adieu! my native shore
Fades o'er the waters blue.
My native land, good night!
O Christ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land.
In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see
For one who hath no friend, no brother there.
Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs
Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
War, war is still the cry,--"war even to the knife!"
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
