Thy Days Are Done (Lord Byron Poem)
Thy days are done, thy fame begun; Thy country's strains record The triumphs of her chosen Son, The slaughter of ...
Thy days are done, thy fame begun; Thy country's strains record The triumphs of her chosen Son, The slaughter of ...
Full moon. Our Narragansett gales subside and the land is celebrating men of war more or less, less or more. ...
When, by decree of the supreme power, The Poet appears in this annoyed world, His mother, blasphemous out of horror ...
Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build, Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work, ...
I. The morn when first it thunders in March, The eel in the pond gives a leap, they say: As ...
I TRUTH is within ourselves; it takes no rise From outward things, whate'er you may believe. There is an inmost ...
A PICTURE AT FANO. I. Dear and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave That child, when thou hast done with ...
O SING a new song to the Lord, Make, all and every one, A joyful noise, even for the King ...
Per me si va ne la citt? dolente, per me si va ne l'etterno dolore, per me si va tra ...
Glion?--Ah, twenty years, it cuts All meaning from a name! White houses prank where once were huts. Glion, but not ...
And the first grey of morning fill'd the east, And the fog rose out of the Oxus stream. But all ...
Who prop, thou ask'st in these bad days, my mind?-- He much, the old man, who, clearest-souled of men, Saw ...
MY lord, I know your noble ear Woe ne'er assails in vain; Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear Your humble ...
THIS day, Time winds th' exhausted chain; To run the twelvemonth's length again: I see, the old bald-pated fellow, With ...
A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, All on a dewy ...
NO churchman am I for to rail and to write, No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, No ...
I MURDER hate by flood or field, Tho' glory's name may screen us; In wars at home I'll spend my ...
WE overstate the ills of life, and take Imagination (given us to bring down The choirs of singing angels overshone ...
O Rose! who dares to name thee? No longer roseate now, nor soft, nor sweet; But pale, and hard, and ...
Which is the weakest thing of all Mine heart can ponder? The sun, a little cloud can pall With darkness ...
We are resolved into the supreme air, We are made one with what we touch and see, With our heart’s ...
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