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Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

Lord Byron

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Lord Byron
Age: 36 †
Born: 1788
Born: January 22
Died: 1824
Died: April 19
Autobiographer
Baron Byron
Diarist
Librettist
Lyricist
Military Personnel
Playwright
Poet
Politician
Translator
Writer
London
England
George Gordon Byron
George Gordon Byron
6th Baron Byron
Noel Byron
Xhorxh Bajroni
Bajron
George Gordon
Jerzy Gordon Byron
Pai-lun
Baron Byron George Gordon Byron
6th Baron Byron George Gordon Noel
Byron
George Gordon Byron
Baron Byron
6th Baron Byron George Gordon Byron
George Gordon Noël Byron Byron
Bayrěn
Payrěn
George Gordon By
Life
Horizon
Like
Comparison
World
Worlds
Star
Stars
Twixt
Upon
Hovers
Night
Morn
Two
Verge

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Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story The days of our youth are the days of our glory And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
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Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?
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He learned the arts of riding, fencing, gunnery, And how to scale a fortress - or a nunnery.
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The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole — And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!
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I hate all pain, Given or received we have enough within us The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, Not to add to each other's natural burden Of mortal misery.
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A small drop of ink makes thousands, perhaps millions... think.
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Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
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O ye! who teach the ingenious youth of nations, Holland, France, England, Germany or Spain, I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, It mends their morals, never mind the pain.
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Go let thy less than woman's hand Assume the distaff not the brand.
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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.
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This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction.
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Think'st thou existence doth depend on time? It doth but actions are our epochs.
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There is no instinct like that of the heart.
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I stood among them, but not of them: in a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts.
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A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper, And that's the reason he himself's so dirty
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Just as old age is creeping on space, And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day, They kindly leave us, though not quite alone, But in good company--the gout or stone.
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The law of heaven and earth is life for life.
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What's drinking? A mere pause from thinking!
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