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I only know we loved in vain I only feel-farewell! farewell!
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
Feel
Feels
Love
Farewell
Vain
Loved
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The premises are so delightfully extensive, that two people might live together without ever seeing, hearing or meeting.
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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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A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
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Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized? In him alone, Can nature show as fair?
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For truth is always strange stranger than fiction.
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A small drop of ink makes thousands, perhaps millions... think.
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In solitude, when we are least alone.
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The 'good old times' - all times when old are good.
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Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
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By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see For one who hath no friend, no brother there.
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And what is writ is writ - / Would it were worthier!
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I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.
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Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures And all are to be sold, if you consider Their passions, and are dext'rous some by features Are brought up, others by a warlike leader Some by a place--as tend their years or natures The most by ready cash--but all have prices, From crowns to kicks, according to their vices.
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Frienship is eros...without wings
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A woman who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover - but will sooner or later find a tyrant.
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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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The image of Eternity--the throne Of the Invisible even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made each zone Obeys thee thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
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Lord of himself that heritage of woe!
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I should like to know who has been carried off, except poor dear me - I have been more ravished myself than anybody since the Trojan war.
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And hold up to the sun my little taper.
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