Related:

• The nympholepsy of some fond despair.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 115...
• Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 109...
• Tully was not so eloquent as thou, Thou nameless column with the buried base.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 110...
• Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 42...
• Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 183...
• Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 115...
• And what is writ is writ,-- Would it were worthier!
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 185...
• Fills The air around with beauty.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 49...
• Let these describe the undescribable.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 53...