Free
Lord George Gordon Byron

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage

  • b1316201520has quoted5 months ago
    Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break

    To separate contemplation, the great whole;

    And as the ocean many bays will make,

    That ask the eye—so here condense thy soul

    To more immediate objects, and control

    Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart

    Its eloquent proportions, and unroll

    In mighty graduations, part by part,

    The glory which at once upon thee did not dart.
  • b1316201520has quoted5 months ago
    But I have lived, and have not lived in vain:

    My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire,

    And my frame perish even in conquering pain,

    But there is that within me which shall tire

    Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire:

    Something unearthly, which they deem not of,

    Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre,

    Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move

    In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love
  • b1316201520has quoted5 months ago
    Few—none—find what they love or could have loved:

    Though accident, blind contact, and the strong

    Necessity of loving, have removed

    Antipathies—but to recur, ere long,

    Envenomed with irrevocable wrong;

    And Circumstance, that unspiritual god

    And miscreator, makes and helps along

    Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod,

    Whose touch turns hope to dust—the dust we all have trod.
  • b1316201520has quoted5 months ago
    Who loves, raves—'tis youth's frenzy—but the cure

    Is bitterer still; as charm by charm unwinds

    Which robed our idols, and we see too sure

    Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's

    Ideal shape of such; yet still it binds

    The fatal spell, and still it draws us on,

    Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds;

    The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun,

    Seems ever near the prize—wealthiest when most undone.
  • b1316201520has quoted5 months ago
    Who loves, raves—'tis youth's frenzy—but the cure

    Is bitterer still; as charm by charm unwinds

    Which robed our idols, and we see too sure

    Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's

    Ideal shape of such; yet still it binds

    The fatal spell, and still it draws us on,

    Reaping the whirlwind from the oft-sown winds;

    The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun,

    Seems ever near the prize—wealthiest when most undone.
  • zuimslauhas quoted5 months ago
    Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel;
  • zuimslauhas quoted5 months ago
    un;
    A sister whom he loved, but saw her not
  • zuimslauhas quoted5 months ago
    Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel;
  • b1316201520has quoted5 months ago
    Alas! our young affections run to waste,

    Or water but the desert: whence arise

    But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste,

    Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes,

    Flowers whose wild odours breathe but agonies,

    And trees whose gums are poison; such the plants

    Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies

    O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants

    For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants.
  • b1316201520has quoted6 months ago
    The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome!

    And even since, and now, fair Italy!

    Thou art the garden of the world, the home

    Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree;

    Even in thy desert, what is like to thee?

    Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste

    More rich than other climes' fertility;

    Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced

    With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced.
fb2epub
Drag & drop your files (not more than 5 at once)