Oh, never talk again to me
  Of northern climes and British ladies;
It has not been your lot to see
  Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz.
Although her eyes be not of blue,
  Nor fair her locks, like English lasses’,
How far its own expressive hue...

Poet: Lord Byron

“Hebrew Melodies”
SHE walks in beauty, like the night
  Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that ’s best of dark and bright
  Meet in her aspect and her eyes,
Thus mellowed to that tender light
  Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

...
Poet: Lord Byron

From “Don Juan,” Canto I.
                    ’T IS sweet to hear,
  At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep,
The song and oar of Adria’s gondolier,
  By distance mellowed, o’er the waters sweep;
’T is sweet to see the evening star appear;
  ’T is...

Poet: Lord Byron

Written on the Road between Florence and Pisa
OH, talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory,
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

What are garlands...

Poet: Lord Byron

Our life is twofold; sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of...

Poet: Lord Byron

Maid of Athens, ere we part,
Give, O, give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go,
  [Greek]. 1

By those tresses unconfined,
Wooed by each Ægean wind;
By those...

Poet: Lord Byron

Adieu, adieu! my native shore
  Fades o’er the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
  And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
  We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
  My native Land...

Poet: Lord Byron

Fare thee well! and if forever,
  Still forever, fare thee well;
Even though unforgiving, never
  ’Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.

Would that breast were bared before thee
  Where thy head so oft hath lain,
While that placid sleep came o’er...

Poet: Lord Byron

 “On this day I completed my thirty-sixth year.“
—MISSOLONGHI, JANUARY 23, 1824.    

’T IS time this heart should be unmoved,
  Since others it has ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
          Still let me love!

My days are in the...

Poet: Lord Byron

From “The Giaour”
    HE who hath bent him o’er the dead
  Ere the first day of death is fled,
  The first dark day of nothingness,
  The last of danger and distress,
  (Before Decay’s effacing fingers
  Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,)...

Poet: Lord Byron