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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
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight Faints into dimness with its own delight, His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess, The might—the majesty of Loveliness?
The Bride of Abydos (1813)
Let's not unman each other—part at once; All farewells should be sudden, when forever, Else they make an eternity of moments, And clog the last sad sands of life with tears.
The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the music breathing from her face, 19 The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,— And oh, that eye was in itself a soul!
The Bride of Abydos (1813)
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!
The wretched gift eternity Was thine — and thou hast borne it well.
Prometheus (1816)
Through life's road, so dim and dirty, I have dragged to three and thirty; What have these years left to me? Nothing, except thirty-three.
Because He is all-powerful, must all-good, too, follow? I judge but by the fruits—and they are bitter— Which I must feed on for a fault not mine.
Cain (1821)
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.
When We Two Parted (1808)
My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears.
Tho' modest, on his unembarrass'd brow Nature had written—"Gentleman."
So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
Bride of Abydos (1813)
Then farewell, Horace; whom I hated so, Not for thy faults, but mine.
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 sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky.
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.
And Thou Art Dead as Young and Fair (1812)
Like a lovely tree She grew to womanhood, and between whiles Rejected several suitors, just to learn How to accept a better in his turn.
But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think.
He enter'd in his house—his home no more, For without hearts there is no home;—and felt The solitude of passing his own door Without a welcome.
Spared and blessed by Time, Looking tranquility.
Count o’er the joys thine hours have seen, Count o’er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast been, 'Tis something better not to be.
Euthanasia (1812)
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