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Hace 2 días · Euthanasia. When Time, or soon or late, shall bring. The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, Oblivion! may thy languid wing. Wave gently o'er my dying bed! No band of friends or heirs be there, To weep, or wish, the coming blow: No maiden, with dishevelled hair, To feel, or feign, decorous woe.
Hace 3 días · George the triumphant speeds over the wave, To the long-cherish'd isle which he loved like his--bride! Which betray'd not, or crush'd not, or wept not her cause. Is extending its steps to her desolate shore. For the dungeon he quits is the place of his birth. But he comes! the Messiah of royalty comes!
Hace 6 días · George Gordon Lord Byron. Rate: (1) Poem topics:, Print This Poem, Rhyme Scheme Submit Spanish Translation Submit German Translation Submit French Translation Reply To Some Verses Of J. M. B. Pigot, Esq., On The Cruelty Of His Mistress Poem So, We'll Go No More A Roving Poem>>
Hace 3 días · The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay ...
30 de jun. de 2024 · On This Day I Complete My Thirty-sixth Year. 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move: Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love! 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!
20 de jun. de 2024 · And roam alone, the world 's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less. Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued; This is to be alone; this, this is solitude! George Gordon Lord Byron.
2 de jul. de 2024 · And roam alone, the world 's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less. Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued; This is to be alone; this, this is solitude! George Gordon Byron.
