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Where'er We Tread, 't Is Haunted, Holy Ground.
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Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824)
-- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 88
Related:
Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares gray Marathon.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 88...
In solitude, where we are least alone.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 90...
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 2...
The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 6...
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 2...
Coop'd in their winged, sea-girt citadel.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 28...
Land of lost gods and godlike men.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 85...
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 7...
Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 23...