Related:

• Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 88...
• Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 2...
• 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...
• Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 2...
• Land of lost gods and godlike men.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 85...
• The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 6...
• A thousand years scarce serve to form a state: An hour may lay it in the dust.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 84...
• Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 23...