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Lord Byron

Lord Byron

Epitaph for William Pitt

With death doom’d to grapple,
Beneath this cold slab, he
Who lied in the Chapel
Now lies in the Abbey.

#EnglishWriters #Romanticism #XIXCentury

Altre opere di Lord Byron...
On the Day of the Destruction of Jerusalem by Titus

From the last hill that looks on t… I beheld thee, oh Sion! when rend… 'Twas thy last sun went down, and… Flash’d back on the last glance I… I look’d for thy temple, I look’d…
 1
The Conquest

The Son of Love and Lord of War… Him who bade England bow to Norma… And left the name of conqueror mor… To his unconquerable dynasty. Not fann’d alone by Victory’s fle…
Thou Art Not False, But Thou Art Fickle

Thou art not false, but thou art f… To those thyself so fondly sought; The tears that thou hast forced to… Are doubly bitter from that though… 'Tis this which breaks the heart t…
 1
From the Last Hill That Looks on Thy Once Holy Dome

From the last hill that looks on t… I beheld thee, Oh Sion! when rend… 'Twas thy last sun went down, and… Flash’d back on the last glance I… II.
 1
Impromptus

Strahan, Tonson, Lintot of the ti… Patron and publisher of rhymes, For thee the bard up Pindus climb… My Murray. To thee, with hope and terror dumb…
Don Juan: Canto the Eleventh

When Bishop Berkeley said “there… And proved it—'twas no matter what… They say his system ‘tis in vain t… Too subtle for the airiest human h… And yet who can believe it! I wou…
To M.S.G.

Whene’er I view those lips of thi… Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were——unhallow’d bliss. Whene’er I dream of that pure bre…
 1
To Caroline

Think’st thou I saw thy beauteous… Suffus’d in tears, implore to stay… And heard unmov’d thy plenteous si… Which said far more than words can… Though keen the grief thy tears ex…
 3
To Thomas Moore

My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea; But, before I go, Tom Moore, Here’s a double health to thee! Here’s a sigh to those who love me…
Answer to Some Elegant Verses Sent by a Friend to the Author, Complaining That One of His Descriptions Was Rather Too Warmly Drawn

‘But if any old lady, knight, prie… Should condemn me for printing a s… If good Madam Squintum my work sh… May I venture to give her a smack… CANDOUR compels me, BECHER!…
My Epitaph

Youth, Nature, and relenting Jove… To keep my Lamp in strongly strov… But Romanelli was so stout, He beat all three, and blew it out… Oct. 1810.
Man and Woman Contemplating the Moon, by Caspar David Friedrich
We'll go no more a-roving

So, we’ll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as lovin… And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath,
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On Being Asked What Was the 'Origin of Love’

The ‘Origin of Love!’—Ah why That cruel question ask of me, When thou may’st read in many an e… He starts to life on seeing thee? And should’st thou seek his end to…
 1
Don Juan: Canto the Seventh

O Love! O Glory! what are ye who… Around us ever, rarely to alight? There’s not a meteor in the polar… Of such transcendent and more flee… Chill, and chain’d to cold earth,…
To the Countess of Blessington

You have ask’d for a verse:—the re… In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny… But my Hippocrene was but my brea… And my feelings (its fountain) are… Were I now as I was, I had sung
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