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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.
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
Wise
Disguise
Tropes
Eyes
Suit
Wooing
Though
Despise
Humbly
Eye
Suits
Thine
Moving
Proper
Homage
Art
Thou
Idol
Even
Thee
Idols
Told
Tenderness
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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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In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
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What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, is much more common where the climate's sultry.
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Why I came here, I know not where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?
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Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.
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I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.
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Life is too short for chess.
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What's drinking? A mere pause from thinking!
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What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.
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I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.
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Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till-'t is gone, and all is gray.
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Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave.
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Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy.
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Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.
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The Coach does not play in the game, but the Coach helps the players identify areas to improve their game.
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Next to dressing for a rout or ball, undressing is a woe.
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And Doubt and Discord step 'twixt thine and thee.
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My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.
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They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness.
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