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He Sinks Into Thy Depths With Bubbling Groan, Without A Grave, Unknell'd, Uncoffin'd, And Unknown.
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He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824)
-- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 179
Related:
Then farewell Horace, whom I hated so,-- Not for thy faults, but mine.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 77...
Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 109...
O Rome! my country! city of the soul!
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 78...
The nympholepsy of some fond despair.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 115...
The poetry of speech.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 58...
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...
Heaven gives its favourites--early death.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 102...
I see before me the gladiator lie.
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