Category Lord Byron

For Paul Your hands easyweight, teasing the beeshived in my hair, your smile at theslope of my cheek. On theoccasion, you pressabove me, glowing, spoutingreadiness, mystery rapes my reason When you have withdrawnyour self and the magic, whenonly the smell…

Hills of Annesley, Bleak and Barren,  Where my thoughtless Childhood stray’d,How the northern Tempests, warring,  Howl above thy tufted Shade!Now no more, the Hours beguiling,Former favourite Haunts I see;Now no more my Mary smiling,Makes ye seem a Heaven to Me.

Aj, Memory torture me no more,The present’s all o’ercast;My hopes of future bliss are o’er,In Mercy veil the past. 2. Why bring these Images to viewI henceforth must resign?Ah, why those happy hours renew,That never can be mine? 3. Past…

Adieu to sweet Mary for ever !   From her I must quickly depart. Though the fates us from each other sever,   Still her image will dwell in my heart.   The flame that within my breast burns   Is unlike what in lovers’…

Churchyard Of Harrow On The Hill Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh,Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky;Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod,With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod;With those who,…

I would I were a careless child,Still dwelling in my highland cave,Or roaming through the dusky wild,Or bounding o’er the dark blue wave;The cumbrous pomp of Saxon prideAccords not with the freeborn soul,Which loves the mountain’s craggy side,And seeks the…

‘Tu semper amorisSisd memor, etcari comitis ne abscedat imago’~Val Flac Friend of my youth! when young we roved,Like striplings mutually beloved,With friendship’s purest glow,The bliss which wing’d those rosy hoursWas such as pleasure seldom showersOn mortals here below. The recollectlon…

Dorset! whose early steps with mine have stray’d,Exploring every path of Ida’s glade;Whom still affection taught me to defendAnd made me less a tyrant than a friendThough the harsh custom of our youthful bandBade thee obey, and gave me to…

When I roved a young Highlander o’er the dark heath,And climb’d thy steep sumrnit, oh Morven of snow!To gaze on the torrent that thunder’d beneath,Or the mist of the tempest that gather’d below,Untutor’d by science, a stranger to fear,And rude…

Well you Sincerity display,A virtue wond’rous rare!Nor value, tho’ the world should say,You’re rude, so you’re sincere.To be sincere, then, give me leave ;And I will frankly own,Since you but this one virtue have,‘Twere better you had none.