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Best Famous George (Lord) Byron Poems

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by George (Lord) Byron | |

When We Two Parted

When we two parted
  In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
  To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
  Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
  Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning Sunk chill on my brow— It felt like the warning Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame.
They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me— Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well— Long, long shall I rue thee, To deeply to tell.
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.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

She Walks in Beauty

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.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!


by George (Lord) Byron | |

All for Love

O 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 and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? 5 'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled: Then away with all such from the head that is hoary¡ª What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? O Fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases 10 Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.
There chiefly I sought thee there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story 15 I knew it was love and I felt it was glory.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

There be none of Beautys daughters

THERE be none of Beauty's daughters 
With a magic like thee; 
And like music on the waters 
Is thy sweet voice to me: 
When as if its sound were causing 5 
The charmed ocean's pausing  
The waves lie still and gleaming  
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming: 

And the midnight moon is weaving 
Her bright chain o'er the deep 10 
Whose breast is gently heaving 
As an infant's asleep: 
So the spirit bows before thee 
To listen and adore thee; 
With a full but soft emotion 15 
Like the swell of summer's ocean.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

Elegy

OH snatch'd away in beauty's bloom! 
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; 
But on thy turf shall roses rear 
Their leaves the earliest of the year  
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom: 5 

And oft by yon blue gushing stream 
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head  
And feed deep thought with many a dream  
And lingering pause and lightly tread; 
Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! 10 

Away! we know that tears are vain  
That Death nor heeds nor hears distress: 
Will this unteach us to complain? 
Or make one mourner weep the less? 
And thou who tell'st me to forget 15 
Thy looks are wan thine eyes are wet.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

On the Castle of Chillon

ETERNAL Spirit of the chainless Mind! 
Brightest in dungeons Liberty! thou art  
For there thy habitation is the heart¡ª 
The heart which love of Thee alone can bind.
And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd 5 To fetters and the damp vault's dayless gloom Their country conquers with their martyrdom And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind.
Chillon! thy prison is a holy place And thy sad floor an altar for 'twas trod 10 Until his very steps have left a trace Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod By Bonnivard! May none those marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

DON JUAN

 http://www.gutenberg.org/files/21700/21700-h/21700-h.htm


by George (Lord) Byron | |

Dam?tas

 In law an infant, and in years a boy,
In mind a slave to every vicious joy;
From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd;
In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;
Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child;
Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;
Women his dupe, his heedless friend a tool;
Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school;
Dam?tas ran through all the maze of sin,
And found the goal when others just begin:
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl;
But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain,
And what was once his bliss appears his bane.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

So Well Go No More a-Roving

 So we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart still be as loving,
And the moon still be as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul outwears the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

Sonnet to Lake Leman

 Rousseau -- Voltaire -- our Gibbon -- De Sta?l -- 
Leman! these names are worthy of thy shore, 
Thy shore of names like these! wert thou no more, 
Their memory thy remembrance would recall: 
To them thy banks were lovely as to all, 
But they have made them lovelier, for the lore 
Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core 
Of human hearts the ruin of a wall 
Where dwelt the wise and wondrous; but by thee 
How much more, Lake of Beauty! do we feel, 
In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea, 
The wild glow of that not ungentle zeal, 
Which of the heirs of immortality 
Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real!


by George (Lord) Byron | |

Sonnet - to Genevra

 Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,
My heart would wish away that ruder glow:
And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes---but, oh!
While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,
And into mine my mother's weakness rush,
Soft as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow.
For, though thy long dark lashes low depending, The soul of melancholy Gentleness Gleams like a Seraph from the sky descending, Above all pain, yet pitying all distress; At once such majesty with sweetness blending, I worship more, but cannot love thee less.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

To Eliza

 Eliza, what fools are the Mussulman sect, 
Who to woman deny the soul's future existence!
Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their defect,
And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance.
Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of sense, He ne'er would have woman from paradise driven; Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence, With woman alone he had peopled his heaven.
Yet still, to increase your calamities more, Not Content with depriving your bodies of spirit, He allots one poor husband to share amongst four!- With souls you'd dispense; but this last, who could bear it? His religion to please neither party is made; On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil; Still I Can't contradict, what so oft has been said, 'Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil.
'


by George (Lord) Byron | |

Song of Saul Before His Last Battle

 Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword 
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, 
Heed not the corse, though a king’s in your path: 
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath! 

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, 
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, 
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet! 
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet.
Farewell to others, but never we part, Heir to my royalty, son of my heart! Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!


by George (Lord) Byron | |

To Caroline

 Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,
Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay;
And heard unmov'd thy plenteous sighs,
Which said far more than words can say?

Though keen the grief thy tears exprest,
When love and hope lay both o'erthrown;
Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast
Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as thine own.
But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine; The tears that from my eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from thine.
Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame, And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak, In sighs alone it breath'd my name.
And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, In vain our fate in sighs deplore; Remembrance only can remain, But that, will make us weep the more.
Again, thou best belov'd, adieu! Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review, Our only hope is, to forget!


by George (Lord) Byron | |

Thy Days Are Done

 Thy days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,
The slaughter of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,
The freedom he restored!

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death!
The generous blood that flow'd from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath:
Within our veins its currents be,
Thy spirit on our breath!

Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word!
Thy fall, the theme of choral song
From virgin voices pour'd!
To weep would do thy glory wrong:
Thou shalt not be deplored.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

Oh! Weep for Those

 I.
Oh! Weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream, Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell-- Mourn -- where their God that dwelt--the Godless dwell! II.
And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? And when shall Zion's songs agains seem sweet? And Judah's melody once more rejoice The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice? III.
Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast! How shall ye flee away and be at rest! The wild-dove hath her nest-- the fox his cave-- Mankind their Country -- Israel but the grave.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

And Wilt Thou Weep When I Am Low?

 And wilt thou weep when I am low?
Sweet lady! speak those words again:
Yet if they grieve thee, say not so---
I would not give that bosom pain.
My heart is sad, my hopes are gone, My blood runs coldly through my breast; And when I perish, thou alone Wilt sigh above my place of rest.
And yet, methinks, a gleam of peace Doth through my cloud of anguish shine: And for a while my sorrows cease, To know thy heart hath felt for mine.
Oh lady! blessd be that tear--- It falls for one who cannot weep; Such precious drops are doubly dear To those whose eyes no tear may steep.
Sweet lady! once my heart was warm With every feeling soft as thine; But Beauty's self hath ceased to charm A wretch created to repine.
Yet wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words again: Yet if they grieve thee, say not so--- I would not give that bosom pain.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

I would to heaven that I were so much clay

 I would to heaven that I were so much clay,
As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling -
Because at least the past were passed away -
And for the future - (but I write this reeling,
Having got drunk exceedingly today,
So that I seem to stand upon the ceiling)
I say - the future is a serious matter - 
And so - for God's sake - hock and soda water!


by George (Lord) Byron | |

There Was A Time I Need Not Name

 There was a time, I need not name,
Since it will ne'er forgotten be,
When all our feelings were the same
As still my soul hath been to thee.
And from that hour when first thy tongue Confess'd a love which equall'd mine, Though many a grief my heart hath wrung, Unknown, and thus unfelt, by thine, None, none hath sunk so deep as this--- To think how all that love hath flown; Transient as every faithless kiss, But transient in thy breast alone.
And yet my heart some solace knew, When late I heard thy lips declare, In accents once imagined true, Remembrance of the days that were.
Yes! my adored, yet most unkind! Though thou wilt never love again, To me 'tis doubly sweet to find Remembrance of that love remain.
Yes! 'tis a glorious thought to me, Nor longer shall my soul repine, Whate'er thou art or e'er shalt be, Thou hast been dearly, solely mine.


by George (Lord) Byron | |

My Soul is Dark

 My soul is dark - Oh! quickly string 
The harp I yet can brook to hear; 
And let thy gentle fingers fling 
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear, That sound shall charm it forth again: If in these eyes there lurk a tear, 'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
But bid the strain be wild and deep, Nor let thy notes of joy be first: I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep, Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nursed, And ached in sleepless silence, long; And now 'tis doomed to know the worst, And break at once - or yield to song.