She Walks in Beauty, George Gordon Byron
[ Text ID: So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, ]
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There Is Pleasure in the Pathless Wood
by George Gordon Byron
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean -- roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin -- his control
Stops with the shore; -- upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own,
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown.
His steps are not upon thy paths, -- thy fields
Are not a spoil for him, -- thou dost arise
And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields
For earth’s destruction thou dost all despise,
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray
And howling, to his gods, where haply lies
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth: -- there let him lay.
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草のそよぎにも、小川のせせらぎにも、耳を傾ければそこに音楽がある。
There’s music in the sighing of a reed; There’s music in the gushing of a rill; There’s music in all things, if men had ears;
George Gordon Byron
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Lord Byron on His Deathbed by Joseph Denis Odevaere, c. 1826
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Yooo wake up, new Byron bust (1840) just dropped
New acquisition by the Keats-Shelley House in Rome to prepare for Byrons bicentenary next year
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when everyone made rude comments about byron’s weight gain in italy, and then there’s shelley who said byron had “changed into the liveliest, & happiest looking man I ever met”
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going thru old text books and LMAO
can you guess who my favorite poet was
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The absolutely beautiful artwork of Stephanie Hans in 'The Wicked and The Divine 1831'. Writing by Kieron Gillen.
'Every ninety years twelve gods return as young people. They are loved. They are hated. In two years, they are dead. The year is 1831. It's happening now. It's happening again.'
Featuring Lord Byron as Lucifer, Percy Shelley as the Morrigan, Mary Shelley as Woden, Claire Claremont as Inanna, John Keates as Hades, Edgar Allen Poe as Thoth, Samuel Coleridge as Morpheus and The Brontes as the Fates.
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Today, 199 years ago, died in Missolonghi (Greece) the poet George Gordon “Lord” Byron after days struggling with a strong fever.
Here's my favourite lines from his work 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage':
“There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more”
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So We'll Go No More a Roving - Lord Byron - UK
So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out 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.
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Lord Byron the ur-Melkor/Maglor understander. thank u
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Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferosity, and all the virtues of Man without his Vices - George Gordon Byron
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Happy 236th birthday to my favorite poet
George Gordon Byron, (22 January 1788 – 19 April 1824)
The Destruction of Sennacherib
First published in 1815
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 withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail:
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
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草のそよぎにも、小川のせせらぎにも、耳を傾ければそこに音楽がある。
There’s music in the sighing of a reed; There’s music in the gushing of a rill; There’s music in all things, if men had ears;
George Gordon Byron
ジョージ・ゴードン・バイロン
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When you have finished reading "The Vampyre" tale by G. G. Byron, (J.W. Polidori) press the "back" button...
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