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But Quiet To Quick Bosoms Is A Hell.
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But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824)
-- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 42
Related:
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 85...
In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, Stanza 20...
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 1...
And there was mounting in hot haste.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 25...
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 32...
By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 71...
In solitude, where we are least alone.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 90...
On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 86...
Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! They come!
hey come!" -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 25...