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Tyranny Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem None rebels except subjects? The prince who Neglects or violates his trust is more A brigand than the robber-chief.
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
Trust
Chief
Violates
Worst
Chiefs
Deem
Neglect
Dost
Tyranny
Rebels
Thou
Robbers
None
Prince
Treasons
Except
Tyrants
Neglects
Subjects
Rebel
Robber
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And I would hear yet once before I perish The voice which was my music... Speak to me!
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Perhaps the early grave Which men weep over may be meant to save.
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Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep for here There is such matter for all feelings: Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
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Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
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What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.
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Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
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My native land, good night!
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Next to dressing for a rout or ball, undressing is a woe.
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The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.
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There is music in all things, if men had ears.
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The stars are forth, the moon above the tops Of the snow-shining mountains--beautiful! I linger yet with nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man, and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness I learned the language of another world.
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Pure friendship's well-feigned blush.
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I am so convinced of the advantages of looking at mankind instead of reading about them, . . . that I think there should be a law amongst us to set our young men abroad for a term among the few allies our wars have left us.
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No ear can hear nor tongue can tell the tortures of the inward hell!
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For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
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