George Gordon Byron, (1788 –1824), was a major English poet and one of the influential representatives of the Romantic Movement.
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes...”
“Oh, God! it is a fearful thing
To see the human soul take wing
In any shape, in any mood.”
“But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.”
“ When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove—
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.”
“In secret we met
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.”
“And thou wert lovely to the last,
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.”
“I am the very slave of circumstance
And impulse — borne away with every breath!
Misplaced upon the throne — misplaced in life.
I know not what I could have been, but feel
I am not what I should be — let it end.”
“Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o’er the fatal truth,
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.”
“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.”
“The world is a bundle of hay,
Mankind are the asses that pull,
Each tugs in a different way—
And the greatest of all is John Bull!”
“My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm — the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!”
“Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange;
Stranger than fiction: if it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!”
“He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled,—
The first dark day of nothingness,
The last of danger and distress,
Before decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers.”
“Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt
In solitude, where we are least alone.”
“I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me: and to me
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
of human cities torture.”
“The thorns which I have reap’d are of the tree
I planted,—they have torn me,—and I bleed:
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.”
“Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life.
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints tomorrow with prophetic ray!”
“Death, so call’d, is a thing which makes men weep,
And yet a third of life is pass’d in sleep.”
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes...”
~ George Gordon Byron, She Walks in Beauty
“Oh, God! it is a fearful thing
To see the human soul take wing
In any shape, in any mood.”
~ George Gordon Byron, The Prisoner of Chillon
“But words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.”
~ George Gordon Byron, Don Juan, Canto III
“ When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past—
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove—
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.”
~ George Gordon Byron, The First Kiss of Love,
“In secret we met
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.”
~ George Gordon Byron, When We Two Parted (1808)
“And thou wert lovely to the last,
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.”
~ George Gordon Byron, And Thou Art Dead as Young and Fair (1812).
“I am the very slave of circumstance
And impulse — borne away with every breath!
Misplaced upon the throne — misplaced in life.
I know not what I could have been, but feel
I am not what I should be — let it end.”
~ George Gordon Byron, Sardanapalus
“Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most
Must mourn the deepest o’er the fatal truth,
The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.”
~ George Gordon Byron, Manfred
“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.”
~ George Gordon Byron, Stanzas to Augusta
“The world is a bundle of hay,
Mankind are the asses that pull,
Each tugs in a different way—
And the greatest of all is John Bull!”
~ George Gordon Byron, Letter to Thomas Moore (22 June 1821).
“My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of Love are gone;
The worm — the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!”
~ George Gordon Byron, On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year
“Tis strange,-but true; for truth is always strange;
Stranger than fiction: if it could be told,
How much would novels gain by the exchange!
How differently the world would men behold!”
~ George Gordon Byron, Don Juan
“He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Ere the first day of death is fled,—
The first dark day of nothingness,
The last of danger and distress,
Before decay's effacing fingers
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers.”
~ George Gordon Byron,The Giaour
“Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt
In solitude, where we are least alone.”
~ George Gordon Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
“I live not in myself, but I become
Portion of that around me: and to me
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
of human cities torture.”
~ George Gordon Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage
“The thorns which I have reap’d are of the tree
I planted,—they have torn me,—and I bleed:
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.”
~ George Gordon Byron, I. Personal, Lyric, and Elegiac England
“Be thou the rainbow to the storms of life.
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away,
And tints tomorrow with prophetic ray!”
~ George Gordon Byron, The Bride of Abydos, Canto II, stanza 20
“Death, so call’d, is a thing which makes men weep,
And yet a third of life is pass’d in sleep.”
~ George Gordon Byron, Don Juan, Canto XIV
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