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Lord Byron Quotes
1788–1824 England
George Gordon (Noel) Byron, 6th Baron Byron (January 22 1788 – April 19 1824), generally known as Lord Byron, was an English poet and leading figure in Romanticism. He was the father of the mathematician Ada Lovelace.
England Academics Playwrights Poets Politicians Also known as: Byron, Byron, Lord, George Gordon Byron, George Gordon Noel Byron, George Noel Gordon Byron, Lord Byron
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485 quotes
But—Oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual, Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all?
Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been— A sound which makes us linger;—yet—farewell!
Hereditary bondsmen! Know ye not Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?
I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies! If captains the remark, or critics, make, Why they lie also—under a mistake.
What deep wounds ever closed without a scar? The hearts bleed longest, and but heal to wear That which disfigures it.
Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.
Bride of Abydos (1814)
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.
Farewell! if ever fondest Prayer (1808)
Parent of golden dreams, Romance! Auspicious queen of childish joys, Who lead'st along, in airy dance, Thy votive train of girls and boys.
A quiet conscience makes one so serene! Christians have burnt each other, quite persuaded That all the Apostles would have done as they did.
Most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber!
O ye! who teach the ingenious youth of nations, Holland, France, England, Germany or Spain, I pray ye flog them upon all occasions, It mends their morals, never mind the pain.
What gem hath dropp'd, and sparkles o'er his chain? The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain, That starts at once—bright pure—from Pity's mine, Already polish'd by the hand divine!
So, we'll go no more a roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright.
So, We'll Go No More A-Roving (1817)
I stood Among them, but not of them: in a shroud Of thoughts which were not their thoughts.
Around his form his loose long robe was thrown, And wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone.
The Corsair (1814)
His speech was a fine sample, on the whole, Of rhetoric, which the learn'd call "rigmarole."
Hot from the hands promiscuously applied, Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side.
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
There was a laughing Devil in his sneer, That raised emotions both of rage and fear.
Even to the delicacy of their hand There was resemblance such as true blood wears.
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