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Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, and broke the die.
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
Dies
Nature
Men
Sighing
Formed
Broke
Greatness
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May Moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill, And tailors' lays be longer than their bill! While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, And pay for poems--when they pay for coats.
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'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print. A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.
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Father of Light! great God of Heaven! Hear'st thou the accents of despair? Can guilt like man's be e'er forgiven? Can vice atone for crimes by prayer.
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Let no man grumble when his friends fall off, As they will do like leaves at the first breeze When your affairs come round, one way or t'other, Go to the coffee house, and take another.
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In general I do not draw well with literary men -- not that I dislike them but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication.
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A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.
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Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom.
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I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but as you will see, not infested with the mania.
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Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylæ!
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When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past - For years fleet away with the wings of the dove - The dearest remembrance will still be the last, Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.
Lord Byron
Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave, Then some leap'd overboard with fearful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave.
Lord Byron
He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.
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Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.
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Champagne with its foaming whirls/As white as Cleopatra's pearls.
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Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them?
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Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen.
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Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
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He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!
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The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.
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Years steal fire from the mind as vigor from the limb and life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
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