Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty.
Lord Byron (1788 - 1824)
Source: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 42.
Contributed by: Zaady
Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime? Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime!
Source: "The Bride of Abydos"
Land of lost gods and godlike men.
Source: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii. Stanza 85.
I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me; and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture.
Source: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii. Stanza 72.
Alas! our young affections run to waste, Or water but the desert.
Source: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 120.
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam.
Source: The Corsair, canto i. stanza 1.
Farewell! if ever fondest prayer For other's weal avail'd on high, Mine will not all be lost in air, But waft thy name beyond the sky.
Source: Farewell! if ever fondest Prayer.
Fills The air around with beauty.
Source: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv. Stanza 49.
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
Source: English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Line 6.
For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast. And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest.
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