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Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay, Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme, Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.

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
Rhyme
Clay
Florid
Prose
Heralds
Deeds
Consecrate
Lies
Rake
Crime
Rakes
Lying
Coffin
Evil
Coffins

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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.
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He makes a solitude, and calls it - peace!
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History - the devil's scripture
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I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.
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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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What is Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset And mortals may be happy to resemble The Gods but in decay.
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Yes, love indeed is light from heaven A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire.
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America is a model of force and freedom and moderation - with all the coarseness and rudeness of its people.
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The waves were dead the tides were in their grave, The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd Darkness had no need Of aid from them-She was the Universe.
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Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.
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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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In commitment, we dash the hopes of a thousand potential selves.
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The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes, and feel for what their duty bids them do.
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Though the day of my Destiny 's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.
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Though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen.
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A quiet conscience makes one so serene.
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Do proper homage to thine idol's eyes But no too humbly, or she will despise Thee and thy suit, though told in moving tropes: Disguise even tenderness if thou art wise.
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With flowing tail and flying mane, Wide nostrils never stretched by pain, Mouth bloodless to bit or rein, And feet that iron never shod, And flanks unscar'd by spur or rod, A thousand horses - the wild - the free - Like waves that follow o'er the sea, Came thickly thundering on.
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The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.
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