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I really cannot know whether I am or am not the Genius you are pleased to call me, but I am very willing to put up with the mistake, if it be one.
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
Pleased
Genius
Willing
Mistake
Call
Whether
Cannot
Really
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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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If from society we learn to live, solitude should teach us how to die.
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All human history attests That happiness for man, - the hungry sinner! - Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. ~Lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto XIII, stanza 99
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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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Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal, though no more! though fallen, great!
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What's drinking? A mere pause from thinking!
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My slumbers--if I slumber--are not sleep, But a continuance of enduring thought, Which then I can resist not: in my heart There is a vigil, and these eyes but close To look within and yet I live, and bear The aspect and the form of breathing men.
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And then he danced,-all foreigners excel the serious Angels in the eloquence of pantomime-he danced, I say, right well, with emphasis, and a'so with good sense-a thing in footing indispensable: he danced without theatrical pretence, not like a ballet-master in the van of his drill'd nymphs, but like a gentleman.
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Many are poets, but without the nameFor what is Poesy but to createFrom overfeeling Good or Ill and aimAt an external life beyond our fate,And be the new Prometheus of new men,Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain
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Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.
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The devil was the first democrat
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Absence - that common cure of love.
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Yon Sun that sets upon the sea We follow in his flight Farewell awhile to him and thee, My native land-Good Night!
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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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I am never long, even in the society of her I love, without yearning for the company of my lamp and my library.
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Happiness was born a twin.
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Dead scandals form good subjects for dissection.
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'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come.
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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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All Heaven and Earth are still, though not in sleep, But breathless, as we grow when feeling most.
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