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Selected Poems
Described as 'Mad, bad and dangerous to know' by one of his lovers, Lady Caroline Lamb, Lord Byron was the quintessential Romantic. Flamboyant, charismatic and brilliant, he remains almost as notorious for his life - as a political revolutionary, sexual adventurer and traveller - as he does for his literary work. Yet he produced some of the most daring and exuberant poetry of the Romantic age, from 'To Caroline' and 'To Woman' to the satirical English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, his exotic Eastern tales and the colourful narrative of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, the work that made him famous overnight and gave birth to the idea of the brooding Byronic hero.
864 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1848
About the author
Lord Byron
3,902 books1,972 followersGeorge Gordon Byron (invariably known as Lord Byron), later Noel, 6th Baron Byron of Rochdale FRS was a British poet and a leading figure in Romanticism. Amongst Byron's best-known works are the brief poems She Walks in Beauty, When We Two Parted, and So, we'll go no more a roving, in addition to the narrative poems Childe Harold's Pilgrimage and Don Juan. He is regarded as one of the greatest British poets and remains widely read and influential, both in the English-speaking world and beyond.
Byron's notabilty rests not only on his writings but also on his life, which featured upper-class living, numerous love affairs, debts, and separation. He was notably described by Lady Caroline Lamb as "mad, bad, and dangerous to know". Byron served as a regional leader of Italy's revolutionary organization, the Carbonari, in its struggle against Austria. He later travelled to fight against the Ottoman Empire in the Greek War of Independence, for which Greeks revere him as a national hero. He died from a fever contracted while in Messolonghi in Greece.
Byron's notabilty rests not only on his writings but also on his life, which featured upper-class living, numerous love affairs, debts, and separation. He was notably described by Lady Caroline Lamb as "mad, bad, and dangerous to know". Byron served as a regional leader of Italy's revolutionary organization, the Carbonari, in its struggle against Austria. He later travelled to fight against the Ottoman Empire in the Greek War of Independence, for which Greeks revere him as a national hero. He died from a fever contracted while in Messolonghi in Greece.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 181 reviews
August 29, 2014
My first contact with the most known satanical Romantic poet hasn’t disappointed. Lord Byron emerges in his poems as the immensely popular hero, defiant, melancholic, haunted by secret guilt, the eternal scandalous irreverent freethinker.
We are the fools of Time and Terror: Days
Steal on us, and steal from us; yet we live,
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die . Manfred
Although this selection doesn’t include his famous Don Juan , I have found plenty of passion and strong emotion in his stanzas, specially in Cain: a Mystery , where he keeps defying not only religious convention, giving Lucifer a clergyman voice:
(Speaking about Lucifer)
CAIN. He is God.
ADAH. How know’st thou?
CAIN. He speaks like A God.
ADAH. So did the Serpent, and it lied.
but also unashamedly proclaiming his widely known extravagant views on relationships in, for example, making ADAH not only CAIN’s sister but also his wife and lover.
Writer of metaphysical poems, like his famous Manfred, Byron rejects the Wordsworthian belief in the benevolence of Nature and insists on the independence and self-sufficiency of the human mind, which doesn’t bow to any supernatural authority.
I have not been thy dupe nor am thy prey,
But was my own destroyer, and will be
My own hereafter. – Back, ye baffled fiends!
The hand of death is on me – but not yours!
At the same time though, I find a kind of paradox in Byron’s style and the content of his poems. His almost neoclassical order and formal discipline collide with his exulting ideas impregnated with vigorous thoughts of liberty and satirical criticism.
Tyranny
Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem
None rebels except subjects? The prince who
Neglects or violates his trust is more
A brigand than the robber-chief. The Two Foscari
But one thing in common in all his poems is this new figure of the Gothic Hero-Villain full of pride, courage, and even noble virtues such as honor and altruism; but also moody, remorseful, alienated and oppressed creatures, left to dwell in loneliness and incomprehension. Difficult to tell whether Byron was absorbed into his own created characters or he projected his myriad experiences through them.
In any case, I find great appeal in this flawed new anti-hero, sensing original motivations behind Byron’s works. Lacking the inhibitions of his contemporaries, he created verse that is exuberant, spontaneous, digressive and lucid, a celebration of an “unadorned reality.”
One can’t help but admire him. With all his debauchery and flaws.
We are the fools of Time and Terror: Days
Steal on us, and steal from us; yet we live,
Loathing our life, and dreading still to die . Manfred
Although this selection doesn’t include his famous Don Juan , I have found plenty of passion and strong emotion in his stanzas, specially in Cain: a Mystery , where he keeps defying not only religious convention, giving Lucifer a clergyman voice:
(Speaking about Lucifer)
CAIN. He is God.
ADAH. How know’st thou?
CAIN. He speaks like A God.
ADAH. So did the Serpent, and it lied.
but also unashamedly proclaiming his widely known extravagant views on relationships in, for example, making ADAH not only CAIN’s sister but also his wife and lover.
Writer of metaphysical poems, like his famous Manfred, Byron rejects the Wordsworthian belief in the benevolence of Nature and insists on the independence and self-sufficiency of the human mind, which doesn’t bow to any supernatural authority.
I have not been thy dupe nor am thy prey,
But was my own destroyer, and will be
My own hereafter. – Back, ye baffled fiends!
The hand of death is on me – but not yours!
At the same time though, I find a kind of paradox in Byron’s style and the content of his poems. His almost neoclassical order and formal discipline collide with his exulting ideas impregnated with vigorous thoughts of liberty and satirical criticism.
Tyranny
Is far the worst of treasons. Dost thou deem
None rebels except subjects? The prince who
Neglects or violates his trust is more
A brigand than the robber-chief. The Two Foscari
But one thing in common in all his poems is this new figure of the Gothic Hero-Villain full of pride, courage, and even noble virtues such as honor and altruism; but also moody, remorseful, alienated and oppressed creatures, left to dwell in loneliness and incomprehension. Difficult to tell whether Byron was absorbed into his own created characters or he projected his myriad experiences through them.
In any case, I find great appeal in this flawed new anti-hero, sensing original motivations behind Byron’s works. Lacking the inhibitions of his contemporaries, he created verse that is exuberant, spontaneous, digressive and lucid, a celebration of an “unadorned reality.”
One can’t help but admire him. With all his debauchery and flaws.
June 21, 2018
Selected Poems, George Gordon Byron
George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron FRS (22 January 1788 – 19 April 1824), known as Lord Byron, was an English nobleman, poet, peer, politician, and leading figure in the Romantic movement. He is regarded as one of the greatest British poets and remains widely read and influential. Among his best-known works are the lengthy narrative poems Don Juan and Childe Harold's Pilgrimage as well as the short lyric poem "She Walks in Beauty".
تاریخ نخستین خوانش: سوم ماه نوامبر سال 2013 میلادی
لرد «جرج گوردون بایرن» شخصیت درجه اول رمانتیسم انگلستان، و اروپا، ایشان را در همان سالهای پس از درگذشتش «ناپلئون دنیای شعر» لقب دادند. چاپ پیش از انقلاب (از صفحه 1825 تا صفحه 1959 ، از جلد چهارم از مجموعه آثار شجاع الدین شفا) در 137 صفحه
چایلد هارولد، قطعه زندانی شیلن
ای آزادی. تو آن روح جاودان هستی، که هرگز در زنجیر نمیافتد، و در تاریکی سیاهچالها نیز همچنان درخشنده میماند، زیرا جایگاه تو قلب ماست. قلبی ست که تنها برای تو میتپد. وقتی که نصیب فرزندان تو، قلاده و ظلمت و سیاهچال تیره شود، از شهادت آنها نیرویی پدید میآید، که کشورشان را پیروز میکند، و نام آزادی را با هر نسیمی، به اطراف جهان میپراکند
شیلن! زندان تو مکانی مقدس است. زمین تو حکم پلکان کلیسائی را دارد، که از فرط عبور پارسایان، جای قدمهای ایشان در آن مانده است. به جان «بونیوارد» قسم، که گویی کف هر سیاهچال تو محرابی ست. خدا کند هیچ یک از این نشانها محو نشود، زیرا اینها از دست ظلم، به خداوند پناه برده اند
1
موهای سر من خاکستری شده
...
ا. شربیانی
George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron FRS (22 January 1788 – 19 April 1824), known as Lord Byron, was an English nobleman, poet, peer, politician, and leading figure in the Romantic movement. He is regarded as one of the greatest British poets and remains widely read and influential. Among his best-known works are the lengthy narrative poems Don Juan and Childe Harold's Pilgrimage as well as the short lyric poem "She Walks in Beauty".
تاریخ نخستین خوانش: سوم ماه نوامبر سال 2013 میلادی
لرد «جرج گوردون بایرن» شخصیت درجه اول رمانتیسم انگلستان، و اروپا، ایشان را در همان سالهای پس از درگذشتش «ناپلئون دنیای شعر» لقب دادند. چاپ پیش از انقلاب (از صفحه 1825 تا صفحه 1959 ، از جلد چهارم از مجموعه آثار شجاع الدین شفا) در 137 صفحه
چایلد هارولد، قطعه زندانی شیلن
ای آزادی. تو آن روح جاودان هستی، که هرگز در زنجیر نمیافتد، و در تاریکی سیاهچالها نیز همچنان درخشنده میماند، زیرا جایگاه تو قلب ماست. قلبی ست که تنها برای تو میتپد. وقتی که نصیب فرزندان تو، قلاده و ظلمت و سیاهچال تیره شود، از شهادت آنها نیرویی پدید میآید، که کشورشان را پیروز میکند، و نام آزادی را با هر نسیمی، به اطراف جهان میپراکند
شیلن! زندان تو مکانی مقدس است. زمین تو حکم پلکان کلیسائی را دارد، که از فرط عبور پارسایان، جای قدمهای ایشان در آن مانده است. به جان «بونیوارد» قسم، که گویی کف هر سیاهچال تو محرابی ست. خدا کند هیچ یک از این نشانها محو نشود، زیرا اینها از دست ظلم، به خداوند پناه برده اند
1
موهای سر من خاکستری شده
...
ا. شربیانی
December 23, 2021
Never was a fan of poetry, although I sometimes like long poems. I really enjoyed Byron's style and dark topics, but still not a fan of a genre in general.
July 27, 2020
103rd book of 2020.
I was surprised how much I absolutely adored this. Byron is now my definitive poet, my favourite. And this book will join the ranks of my favourites.
Byron Road Sign in my Hometown - Photo by Me.
Concerning the selection of poems in this book, Byron's poetry moves from horribly nostalgic and wistful, to funny and witty, to heartbreakingly beautiful, to wonderful narratives... All with his incredible control, and impeccable rhyme.
Some stanzas just spoke right to me, straight from the yellowed pages. These moments are the reason I read. It makes my mind spiral - how does it happen sometimes, with such clarity that we disbelieve mere coincidence - that what we are reading aids us, or reflects something, that we are feeling at the time. That Byron, through countless generations issues me a thought, a line, that pierces the fleshy part of my soul. These are some of the greatest poems I have ever read. Byron is a privilege to read and a reminder, of what a privilege all reading is, what knowledge and beauty it imparts on us. I'm going to move into quoting some of my favourite stanzas, before I type incessantly all night about how brilliant Byron is, until my words lose all meaning and I just become a rambling idiot. Almost there.
'When We Two Parted' is perhaps Byron's most well-known poem, and most loved. Though the whole poem is beautiful, I would say that its reputation is worthy of just the final stanza:
In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.
And, now I will say: 'The Prisoner of Chillon' is up there, in my mind, as one of the greatest poems I've ever read. The final stanza reflects, in a way beyond me, or maybe anyone but Byron, how I feel as lockdown comes to an end, and we begin to emerge from our 'caves'.
It might be months, or years, or days—
I kept no count, I took no note—
I had no hope my eyes to raise,
And clear them of their dreary mote;
At last men came to set me free;
I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where;
It was at length the same to me,
Fetter'd or fetterless to be,
I learn'd to love despair.
And thus when they appear'd at last,
And all my bonds aside were cast,
These heavy walls to me had grown
A hermitage—and all my own!
And half I felt as they were come
To tear me from a second home:
With spiders I had friendship made
And watch'd them in their sullen trade,
Had seen the mice by moonlight play,
And why should I feel less than they?
We were all inmates of one place,
And I, the monarch of each race,
Had power to kill—yet, strange to tell!
In quiet we had learn'd to dwell;
My very chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends
To make us what we are:—even I
Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.
I was surprised how much I absolutely adored this. Byron is now my definitive poet, my favourite. And this book will join the ranks of my favourites.
Byron Road Sign in my Hometown - Photo by Me.
Concerning the selection of poems in this book, Byron's poetry moves from horribly nostalgic and wistful, to funny and witty, to heartbreakingly beautiful, to wonderful narratives... All with his incredible control, and impeccable rhyme.
Some stanzas just spoke right to me, straight from the yellowed pages. These moments are the reason I read. It makes my mind spiral - how does it happen sometimes, with such clarity that we disbelieve mere coincidence - that what we are reading aids us, or reflects something, that we are feeling at the time. That Byron, through countless generations issues me a thought, a line, that pierces the fleshy part of my soul. These are some of the greatest poems I have ever read. Byron is a privilege to read and a reminder, of what a privilege all reading is, what knowledge and beauty it imparts on us. I'm going to move into quoting some of my favourite stanzas, before I type incessantly all night about how brilliant Byron is, until my words lose all meaning and I just become a rambling idiot. Almost there.
'When We Two Parted' is perhaps Byron's most well-known poem, and most loved. Though the whole poem is beautiful, I would say that its reputation is worthy of just the final stanza:
In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.
And, now I will say: 'The Prisoner of Chillon' is up there, in my mind, as one of the greatest poems I've ever read. The final stanza reflects, in a way beyond me, or maybe anyone but Byron, how I feel as lockdown comes to an end, and we begin to emerge from our 'caves'.
It might be months, or years, or days—
I kept no count, I took no note—
I had no hope my eyes to raise,
And clear them of their dreary mote;
At last men came to set me free;
I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where;
It was at length the same to me,
Fetter'd or fetterless to be,
I learn'd to love despair.
And thus when they appear'd at last,
And all my bonds aside were cast,
These heavy walls to me had grown
A hermitage—and all my own!
And half I felt as they were come
To tear me from a second home:
With spiders I had friendship made
And watch'd them in their sullen trade,
Had seen the mice by moonlight play,
And why should I feel less than they?
We were all inmates of one place,
And I, the monarch of each race,
Had power to kill—yet, strange to tell!
In quiet we had learn'd to dwell;
My very chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends
To make us what we are:—even I
Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.
June 13, 2007
You either love Byron or you hate him. And it should probably come as no surprise that I absolutely adore him. The original goth-emo boy. Man did it with style, though. His life is fascinating, ridiculous, over the top. Watching his journey through poetry is just amazing, watching how throughly his sorrows and his fantasy life consumes him. Byron's fantasies are beautifully put down through his poetry. It's a shame, but not a surprise, that those fantasies are what ultimately killed him.
March 15, 2016
Introduction & Notes
Table of Dates
Further Reading
A Note on This Edition
--A Fragment ('When, to their airy hall, my fathers' voice')
--To Woman
--The Cornelian
--To Caroline ('You say you love, and yet your eye')
--English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire
--Lines to Mr Hodgson (Written on Board the Lisbon Packet)
--Maid of Athens, ere we part
--Written after Swimming from Sestos to Abydos
--To Thyrza
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt, Cantos I-II
Preface to the First and Second Cantos
Addition to the Preface
--To Ianthe
--Canto the First
--Canto the Second
Appendix to Canto the Second
--An Ode to the Framers of the Frame Bill
--Lines to a Lady Weeping
--The Waltz: An Apostrophic Hymn
--Remember Thee! Remember Thee!
--The Giaour: A Fragment of a Turkish Tale
--The Bridge of Abydos: A Turkish Tale
--The Corsair: A Tale
--Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte
--Stanzas for Music
--She walks in beauty
--Lara: A Tale
--The Destruction of Sennacherib
--Napoleon's Farewell (From the French)
--From the French ('Must thou go, my glorious Chief')
--The Siege of Corinth
--When we two parted
--Fare thee well!
--Prometheus
--The Prisoner of Chillon: A Fable and Sonnet on Chillon
--Darkness
--Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt, Canto III
--Epistle to Augusta ('My sister! my sweet sister!' &c.)
--Lines (On Hearing that Lady Byron was Ill)
--Manfred: A Dramatic Poem
--So, we'll go no more a roving
--Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt, Canto IV
--Epistle from Mr Murray to Dr Polidori ('Dear Doctor, I have read your play')
--Beppo: A Venetian Story
--Epistle to Mr Murray ('My dear Mr Murray')
--Mazeppa
--Stanzas to the Po
--The Isles of Greece
--Francesca of Rimini. From the Inferno of Dante, Canto the Fifth
--Stanzas ('When a man hath no freedom')
--Sardanapalus: A Tragedy
--Who kill'd John Keats?
--The Blues: A Literary Eclogue
--The Vision of Judgment
--On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year
Notes
Works Cited in the Notes
Index of Titles
Index of First Lines
Table of Dates
Further Reading
A Note on This Edition
--A Fragment ('When, to their airy hall, my fathers' voice')
--To Woman
--The Cornelian
--To Caroline ('You say you love, and yet your eye')
--English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire
--Lines to Mr Hodgson (Written on Board the Lisbon Packet)
--Maid of Athens, ere we part
--Written after Swimming from Sestos to Abydos
--To Thyrza
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt, Cantos I-II
Preface to the First and Second Cantos
Addition to the Preface
--To Ianthe
--Canto the First
--Canto the Second
Appendix to Canto the Second
--An Ode to the Framers of the Frame Bill
--Lines to a Lady Weeping
--The Waltz: An Apostrophic Hymn
--Remember Thee! Remember Thee!
--The Giaour: A Fragment of a Turkish Tale
--The Bridge of Abydos: A Turkish Tale
--The Corsair: A Tale
--Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte
--Stanzas for Music
--She walks in beauty
--Lara: A Tale
--The Destruction of Sennacherib
--Napoleon's Farewell (From the French)
--From the French ('Must thou go, my glorious Chief')
--The Siege of Corinth
--When we two parted
--Fare thee well!
--Prometheus
--The Prisoner of Chillon: A Fable and Sonnet on Chillon
--Darkness
--Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt, Canto III
--Epistle to Augusta ('My sister! my sweet sister!' &c.)
--Lines (On Hearing that Lady Byron was Ill)
--Manfred: A Dramatic Poem
--So, we'll go no more a roving
--Childe Harold's Pilgrimage: A Romaunt, Canto IV
--Epistle from Mr Murray to Dr Polidori ('Dear Doctor, I have read your play')
--Beppo: A Venetian Story
--Epistle to Mr Murray ('My dear Mr Murray')
--Mazeppa
--Stanzas to the Po
--The Isles of Greece
--Francesca of Rimini. From the Inferno of Dante, Canto the Fifth
--Stanzas ('When a man hath no freedom')
--Sardanapalus: A Tragedy
--Who kill'd John Keats?
--The Blues: A Literary Eclogue
--The Vision of Judgment
--On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year
Notes
Works Cited in the Notes
Index of Titles
Index of First Lines
May 12, 2016
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years ,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow -
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me -
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well: -
Long, long shall I rue thee ,
Too deeply t o tell.
In secret we met -
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? -
With silence and tears.
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years ,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow -
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me -
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well: -
Long, long shall I rue thee ,
Too deeply t o tell.
In secret we met -
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? -
With silence and tears.
May 3, 2021
Se puede afirmar que la vida de Lord Byron, mitificada desde el propio período romántico, ha eclipsado en gran medida a su obra poética. De hecho, los críticos literarios anglosajones rara vez han tomado los versos del aventurero realmente en serio, y los han relegado a una segunda categoría en la historia de la poesía inglesa. Sin embargo, en sus poemas podemos encontrar gran parte de las virtudes líricas que ensalzaron el Romanticismo a movimiento capital en el desarrollo vital de la literatura.
March 3, 2021
There be none of beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like magic on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lulled winds seem dreaming:
And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant's asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of summer's ocean.
- - -
The child of love—though born in bitterness,
And nutured in convulsion—of thy sire
These were the elements—and thine no less.
As yet such are around thee—but thy fire
Shall be more tempered, and thy hope far higher.
Sweet be thy cradled slumbers! O'er the sea,
And from the mountains where I now respire,
Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee,
As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to me!
- - -
Tis pity learned virigins ever wed
With persons of no sort of education,
Or gentlemen, who, though well-born and bred,
Grow tired of scientific conversation:
I don't choose to say much upon this head,
I'm a plain man, and in a single station,
But—Oh! ye lords of ladies intellectual,
Inform us truly, have they not hen-peck'd you all?
May 1, 2021
When Lord Byron was still a student living in a run-down ancestral home, he dug up the skull of a long-dead distant relative, made it into a wine cup, and had the following lines inscribed on it:
“Start not—nor deem my spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.
I lived, I loved, I quaffed like thee;
I died: let earth my bones resign:
Fill up—thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.”
Byron could have written those stanzas about himself. Nothing dull ever flowed from his own skull, and all the gossip of two centuries has not been able to damage the perennial fascination with his person.
Reputation 4/5
As in his own lifetime, Byron’s person is still more famous than his poetry – at least in England. Outside his own country, Byron is one of the world’s favorite poets. He is the embodiment of Romanticism everywhere. In Germany and Russia, he is the second greatest poet after Shakespeare. In Albania and Greece, he is a folk hero.
But in England, he is considered a pervert and a poet below the ranks of Keats and even Blake.
Point – 5/5
One feat of irony in which the English are uniquely gifted is their neglect of their homegrown originality.
Several times in English history an individual has rounded up the entire philosophical idea of his age and then been promptly forgotten by his countrymen, only to be taken in full by another European nation. Newton is an example of this. His “Natural Philosophy” was a foundational block of the Age of Reason. The French understood it and ran with it all the way to political revolution, and the English ignored it insofar as it did not make money.
Lord Byron embodied the entire Romantic movement in his person and wrote its narrative in his verse. He combined the new Romantic sentiment with the linguistic fluency of his favorite poet, Alexander Pope. For about two decades all of Europe fell under his influence. And his influence was not the abstract influence of reinterpretation a hundred or two hundred years after his death (not like Blake or Van Gogh), but the immediate fire of inspiration to two poets of supreme genius, Goethe and Pushkin, - both of whom admired him endlessly - and to a whole generation of artists like Delacroix and Turner, who illustrated his works. His influence was not reinterpreted, but taken directly on Byron’s own terms. One could say that his influence was deliberate. He made artists in his own image, his personality became a style, and he profited on it all the while.
Byron’s influence was felt more in Europe than in England partly because he was, himself, more influenced by continental poetry than by Antique or English tradition. Much of his later poetry is written in Italian forms like ottava rima, and Byron stayed as far from the traditional English blank verse epic as possible. From his earliest youth he considered English poetry to be in a state of pitiful decline, and spared no insult for its contemporary practitioners like Wordsworth (whom he called “Turdsworth”) and Robert Southey.
Robert Southey was then poet laureate and a favorite of the monarchy, but he made a fatal mistake picking a fight with Byron. Poor Southey had written a poem called A Vision of Judgement about the recently deceased King George III being accepted into Heaven, and in it, he threw a few jabs at Byron’s “satanic” lifestyle. Byron responded with his own definitive THE Vision of Judgement, in which Saint Peter casts Southey out of Heaven the moment the poet starts reciting his own defense of King George.
"Saint Peter, who has hitherto been known
For an impetuous saint, upraised his keys,
And at the fifth line knock’d the poet down;
Who fell like Phaeton, but more at ease,
Into his lake, for there he did not drown;
A different web being by the Destinies
Woven for the Laureates final wreath, whene’er
Reform shall happen either here or there.
He first sank to the bottom—like his works,
But soon rose to the surface—like himself;
For all corrupted things are buoy’d like corks,
By their own rottenness, light as an elf,
Or wisp that flits o’er a morass: he lurks,
It may be, still, like dull books on a shelf,
In his own den, to scrawl some ‘Life’ or ‘Vision,’
As Welborn says—‘the devil turn’d precisian.’"
It is easily the harshest roast in the history of English poetry. Southey was so completely obliterated by it that his work is still out of print two centuries later.
Besides his devastating wit, Byron could tell a good story. During his lifetime, his narrative poems sold by the thousands in the original and in translation. They seduced everyone from the most brainless French schoolgirl to Goethe. And though they’re hardly read today, this collection does include one of Byron’s most perfect short narrative works.
Beppo is Don Juan in miniature. Ninety-nine stanzas of ottava rima with Byron’s unmistakable voice of light-hearted humor, cosmopolitanism, and constant digression. It is ostensibly the Venetian story of what happens at home when a man is presumed lost at sea, but the story is really just a vehicle for Byron’s comparisons between English and Italian morals and their attitudes to adultery. You can probably imagine whose society Byron preferred. The Italians and every other European race returned the preference, then and now. And today, while the English still turn their noses up at him, public monuments to Byron can be found all over Europe.
Recommendation – 3/5
Byron is still a controversial figure, and there must be plenty of people who refuse to read him on moral grounds. There can be plenty of objections to his character – to how he lived his life and to his general harshness and pessimism. And his character is so transparently seen in his work that it remains his biggest refutation today. After all, our own age is probably just as morally condescending and judgmental as Byron’s, if not more.
But if you’re not easily offended and prefer poetry that is energetic and shrewd, then you can do no better than Byron. This small selection features plenty of his most famous shorter works, as well as two longer pieces I have already mentioned Beppo and The Vision of Judgment. Byron’s two great long works, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimmage and Don Juan are absent. They are, by common consensus, his best stuff, but they're just too long to be included in this slim volume.
Personal – 5/5
Byron has been my favorite poet since childhood. There were a few years where I deliberately neglected him, because I came under the influence of literary highbrows who would say that an inordinate appreciation of his poetry is juvenile. But fuck them. Byron would’ve ripped them apart in verse, as he did every stuck up, boring snob in his own day, and anyway, you should like what you like.
I like Byron’s poetry because it’s forceful and vivid, while always remaining easy to read. It’s always sharp - nothing about Byron was ever dull. And I like Byron’s character because he’s incomparably fascinating. He was a genius poet and a crazy rake, a society dandy and a fierce rebel who ended his days on a wild expedition to liberate Greece from the Turks.
It’s hard to imagine that Byron’s fame will ever again reach the heights it reached in his own lifetime. At one point Byron was the second most famous name in Europe after Napoleon. With that in mind, I bring up a reflection Arthur Conan Doyle once made about Napoleon:
“If the effect is inconclusive and natural, I may excuse myself by saying that after studying all the evidence which was available, I was still unable to determine whether I was dealing with a great hero or with a great scoundrel. Of the adjective only could I be sure.”
The lines could have been written about Byron.
“Start not—nor deem my spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.
I lived, I loved, I quaffed like thee;
I died: let earth my bones resign:
Fill up—thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.”
Byron could have written those stanzas about himself. Nothing dull ever flowed from his own skull, and all the gossip of two centuries has not been able to damage the perennial fascination with his person.
Reputation 4/5
As in his own lifetime, Byron’s person is still more famous than his poetry – at least in England. Outside his own country, Byron is one of the world’s favorite poets. He is the embodiment of Romanticism everywhere. In Germany and Russia, he is the second greatest poet after Shakespeare. In Albania and Greece, he is a folk hero.
But in England, he is considered a pervert and a poet below the ranks of Keats and even Blake.
Point – 5/5
One feat of irony in which the English are uniquely gifted is their neglect of their homegrown originality.
Several times in English history an individual has rounded up the entire philosophical idea of his age and then been promptly forgotten by his countrymen, only to be taken in full by another European nation. Newton is an example of this. His “Natural Philosophy” was a foundational block of the Age of Reason. The French understood it and ran with it all the way to political revolution, and the English ignored it insofar as it did not make money.
Lord Byron embodied the entire Romantic movement in his person and wrote its narrative in his verse. He combined the new Romantic sentiment with the linguistic fluency of his favorite poet, Alexander Pope. For about two decades all of Europe fell under his influence. And his influence was not the abstract influence of reinterpretation a hundred or two hundred years after his death (not like Blake or Van Gogh), but the immediate fire of inspiration to two poets of supreme genius, Goethe and Pushkin, - both of whom admired him endlessly - and to a whole generation of artists like Delacroix and Turner, who illustrated his works. His influence was not reinterpreted, but taken directly on Byron’s own terms. One could say that his influence was deliberate. He made artists in his own image, his personality became a style, and he profited on it all the while.
Byron’s influence was felt more in Europe than in England partly because he was, himself, more influenced by continental poetry than by Antique or English tradition. Much of his later poetry is written in Italian forms like ottava rima, and Byron stayed as far from the traditional English blank verse epic as possible. From his earliest youth he considered English poetry to be in a state of pitiful decline, and spared no insult for its contemporary practitioners like Wordsworth (whom he called “Turdsworth”) and Robert Southey.
Robert Southey was then poet laureate and a favorite of the monarchy, but he made a fatal mistake picking a fight with Byron. Poor Southey had written a poem called A Vision of Judgement about the recently deceased King George III being accepted into Heaven, and in it, he threw a few jabs at Byron’s “satanic” lifestyle. Byron responded with his own definitive THE Vision of Judgement, in which Saint Peter casts Southey out of Heaven the moment the poet starts reciting his own defense of King George.
"Saint Peter, who has hitherto been known
For an impetuous saint, upraised his keys,
And at the fifth line knock’d the poet down;
Who fell like Phaeton, but more at ease,
Into his lake, for there he did not drown;
A different web being by the Destinies
Woven for the Laureates final wreath, whene’er
Reform shall happen either here or there.
He first sank to the bottom—like his works,
But soon rose to the surface—like himself;
For all corrupted things are buoy’d like corks,
By their own rottenness, light as an elf,
Or wisp that flits o’er a morass: he lurks,
It may be, still, like dull books on a shelf,
In his own den, to scrawl some ‘Life’ or ‘Vision,’
As Welborn says—‘the devil turn’d precisian.’"
It is easily the harshest roast in the history of English poetry. Southey was so completely obliterated by it that his work is still out of print two centuries later.
Besides his devastating wit, Byron could tell a good story. During his lifetime, his narrative poems sold by the thousands in the original and in translation. They seduced everyone from the most brainless French schoolgirl to Goethe. And though they’re hardly read today, this collection does include one of Byron’s most perfect short narrative works.
Beppo is Don Juan in miniature. Ninety-nine stanzas of ottava rima with Byron’s unmistakable voice of light-hearted humor, cosmopolitanism, and constant digression. It is ostensibly the Venetian story of what happens at home when a man is presumed lost at sea, but the story is really just a vehicle for Byron’s comparisons between English and Italian morals and their attitudes to adultery. You can probably imagine whose society Byron preferred. The Italians and every other European race returned the preference, then and now. And today, while the English still turn their noses up at him, public monuments to Byron can be found all over Europe.
Recommendation – 3/5
Byron is still a controversial figure, and there must be plenty of people who refuse to read him on moral grounds. There can be plenty of objections to his character – to how he lived his life and to his general harshness and pessimism. And his character is so transparently seen in his work that it remains his biggest refutation today. After all, our own age is probably just as morally condescending and judgmental as Byron’s, if not more.
But if you’re not easily offended and prefer poetry that is energetic and shrewd, then you can do no better than Byron. This small selection features plenty of his most famous shorter works, as well as two longer pieces I have already mentioned Beppo and The Vision of Judgment. Byron’s two great long works, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimmage and Don Juan are absent. They are, by common consensus, his best stuff, but they're just too long to be included in this slim volume.
Personal – 5/5
Byron has been my favorite poet since childhood. There were a few years where I deliberately neglected him, because I came under the influence of literary highbrows who would say that an inordinate appreciation of his poetry is juvenile. But fuck them. Byron would’ve ripped them apart in verse, as he did every stuck up, boring snob in his own day, and anyway, you should like what you like.
I like Byron’s poetry because it’s forceful and vivid, while always remaining easy to read. It’s always sharp - nothing about Byron was ever dull. And I like Byron’s character because he’s incomparably fascinating. He was a genius poet and a crazy rake, a society dandy and a fierce rebel who ended his days on a wild expedition to liberate Greece from the Turks.
It’s hard to imagine that Byron’s fame will ever again reach the heights it reached in his own lifetime. At one point Byron was the second most famous name in Europe after Napoleon. With that in mind, I bring up a reflection Arthur Conan Doyle once made about Napoleon:
“If the effect is inconclusive and natural, I may excuse myself by saying that after studying all the evidence which was available, I was still unable to determine whether I was dealing with a great hero or with a great scoundrel. Of the adjective only could I be sure.”
The lines could have been written about Byron.
July 17, 2009
Lord Byron was, until the age of biological engineering, pretty much the zenith of human development. Lord knows what he could have done with 80mg per diem sustained release Adderall® {dextro}?amphetamine salts or, like, elephant pituitary extracts, or hell even some Centrum and antibiotics instead of therapeutic bleeding, but it's exciting to read him (or about him) and ponder what'll happen when we can start giving people three hearts each, like octopodes.
July 8, 2010
Well, so far I've learned that skulls make excellent goblets for wine. Better than the thoughts it contained in life!
Byron may have romanticized about women, but he also hid men in there as well.
I find a lot of it hard to read but I end up reading this in a really broken fashion. I work at a call center where I can't really enjoy it between calls, then at home I'm always gardening, eating, cooking, shopping, or facebooking so I read a poem a day at the most.
Where I was going with that is that I may not be the most credible source to write a review but I know I went into it expecting a certain something and I haven't fully gotten that yet. It's been hinted at that he's going where I want him to but he never quite gets there. I may just be looking for Edgar Alan Poe in the wrong place if you know what I mean. I did begin with the Cantos' and they were loooong, but I made it through anyway, just in case, to no avail. Now, I have made it to shorter poems. Only a few have struck my fancy so far. I'm hoping there's a lot more than a few that will really get me, I'm only halfway through so far.
Byron may have romanticized about women, but he also hid men in there as well.
I find a lot of it hard to read but I end up reading this in a really broken fashion. I work at a call center where I can't really enjoy it between calls, then at home I'm always gardening, eating, cooking, shopping, or facebooking so I read a poem a day at the most.
Where I was going with that is that I may not be the most credible source to write a review but I know I went into it expecting a certain something and I haven't fully gotten that yet. It's been hinted at that he's going where I want him to but he never quite gets there. I may just be looking for Edgar Alan Poe in the wrong place if you know what I mean. I did begin with the Cantos' and they were loooong, but I made it through anyway, just in case, to no avail. Now, I have made it to shorter poems. Only a few have struck my fancy so far. I'm hoping there's a lot more than a few that will really get me, I'm only halfway through so far.
December 18, 2024
„О, слънце на безсънните! Звезда
меланхолична с блясък на сълза!
Безсилна срещу нощни тъмнини,
ти спомняш радостта от други дни.
Тъй миналото свети: светлина
сияеща, ала без топлина.
Среднощен лъч от спомен възкресен —
чист, но далечен; светъл, но студен.“
Превод: Любен Любенов
меланхолична с блясък на сълза!
Безсилна срещу нощни тъмнини,
ти спомняш радостта от други дни.
Тъй миналото свети: светлина
сияеща, ала без топлина.
Среднощен лъч от спомен възкресен —
чист, но далечен; светъл, но студен.“
Превод: Любен Любенов
March 1, 2022
"...И макар че съм с участ горчива,
че залязва днес мойта звезда,
твойто нежно сърце не открива
в мене грешки, а само беда.
И макар че тревожех духа ти,
сподели с мен тъгата ми ти.
Закопнял за любов, колко пъти
аз откривах я в твоите черти."
- 1816
че залязва днес мойта звезда,
твойто нежно сърце не открива
в мене грешки, а само беда.
И макар че тревожех духа ти,
сподели с мен тъгата ми ти.
Закопнял за любов, колко пъти
аз откривах я в твоите черти."
- 1816
July 28, 2015
My review of Childe Harold is here!
My reivew of Don Juan is here!
I have to admit that Byron took me a really, really long time to finish. I am not sure if I can put my finger on why that is, but he's taken much longer to read than other poets, even others from his very own time period. Long story short, I find his poetry to be a little harder to follow- to compare to Keats, who is my favorite poet, I can say this: Keats has a flow to his poetry that I can't find in Byron's poetry, and while I can't say that I don't enjoy Byron, I don't enjoy it as much as Keats. I am afraid that I might be a bit more fixated on this fact than I should be, but hey, that's the way it is...
I thoroughly enjoy the longer works of Byron, excluding the plays and early satires. "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" is a wonderful work, and probably the most masterful work that Byron ever put out there. The regret that I have is that there's something in that work that made me think "Oh, this must mean that his other poems are going to be like this! Great!" I think I ran into a little fallacy there- like I mentioned before, the satires and plays that take up so much space in this collection tend to be a bit more boring that I'd like them to be, chock-full of allusions that seem to be a go-to for many poets as well as talking about many issues that I cannot relate to myself. I regret not finding more enjoyment in reading this poetry, but I cannot change what I know to be true: Byron fell a bit flat for me, perhaps warranting a revisit and reevaluation in the future.
My reivew of Don Juan is here!
I have to admit that Byron took me a really, really long time to finish. I am not sure if I can put my finger on why that is, but he's taken much longer to read than other poets, even others from his very own time period. Long story short, I find his poetry to be a little harder to follow- to compare to Keats, who is my favorite poet, I can say this: Keats has a flow to his poetry that I can't find in Byron's poetry, and while I can't say that I don't enjoy Byron, I don't enjoy it as much as Keats. I am afraid that I might be a bit more fixated on this fact than I should be, but hey, that's the way it is...
I thoroughly enjoy the longer works of Byron, excluding the plays and early satires. "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" is a wonderful work, and probably the most masterful work that Byron ever put out there. The regret that I have is that there's something in that work that made me think "Oh, this must mean that his other poems are going to be like this! Great!" I think I ran into a little fallacy there- like I mentioned before, the satires and plays that take up so much space in this collection tend to be a bit more boring that I'd like them to be, chock-full of allusions that seem to be a go-to for many poets as well as talking about many issues that I cannot relate to myself. I regret not finding more enjoyment in reading this poetry, but I cannot change what I know to be true: Byron fell a bit flat for me, perhaps warranting a revisit and reevaluation in the future.
June 9, 2016
Byron has been a perennially fascinating personality since he lived, hence the number of biographies on him in print, but I wonder how many people have actually read his poetry? This is a fine place to start. All the dramatic narratives are here: Childe Harolde's Pilgrimage, Mazeppa, The Giaour, Lara, The Bride of Abydos, The Corsair - as well as some of the famours lyrics such as 'So we'll go no more a roving'.
If you've never read Byron, then you might be surprised at the sheer narrative drive of these poems that keep you reading, even without the beautiful language. Always atmospheric (especially in the Eastern tales) Byron for me has always been one of the poets with the strongest sense of musicality and rhythm in his writing.
Unfortunately the shorter poems and lyrics are in a separate volume, as is Don Juan, but this is a wonderful collection all the same whether you're familiar with Byron or not. The Penguin volume has also been well-edited with notes, so it's helpful if you're studying Byron.
Altogether an excellent collection.
If you've never read Byron, then you might be surprised at the sheer narrative drive of these poems that keep you reading, even without the beautiful language. Always atmospheric (especially in the Eastern tales) Byron for me has always been one of the poets with the strongest sense of musicality and rhythm in his writing.
Unfortunately the shorter poems and lyrics are in a separate volume, as is Don Juan, but this is a wonderful collection all the same whether you're familiar with Byron or not. The Penguin volume has also been well-edited with notes, so it's helpful if you're studying Byron.
Altogether an excellent collection.
January 18, 2025
"When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well—
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears."
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well—
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears."
June 10, 2024
,,და თვალებს ვხუჭავ მხოლოდ იმისთვის,
რომ თვალთა ხედვა მივმართო შიგნით.”
რომ თვალთა ხედვა მივმართო შიგნით.”
March 12, 2018
skippede don juan og childe harold, men fire stjerner for de kortere værker
May 4, 2024
Despite the controversies surrounding Byron as a person, his poetry is a capsule of the European Romantic movement and I enjoyed his work immensely, in particular his shorter poems rather than winding stories like the Giaour (perhaps simply down to the intricate language used paired with the length, they did not particularily catch my eye).
Although most will know him for his infamous poem 'She Walks in Beauty' , this is, in my opinion, far from his best work with some of my favourites from this collection in particular including 'Maid of Athenes, Ere We Part', 'Stanzas for Music' and 'One Struggle More and I am Free'.
'There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay.
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.'
- from Stanzas for Music
Although most will know him for his infamous poem 'She Walks in Beauty' , this is, in my opinion, far from his best work with some of my favourites from this collection in particular including 'Maid of Athenes, Ere We Part', 'Stanzas for Music' and 'One Struggle More and I am Free'.
'There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.
When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay.
'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,
But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past.'
- from Stanzas for Music
January 17, 2011
It seems appropriate to briefly meditate upon the poetry of Lord Byron on any date including this, his birth date. In particular I turn to his poem 'On this Day I complete my Thirty-Sixth Year'. This poem appeals to me neither for the greatness of its lines nor the acuity of its poetic strains, but for the beauty and sadness of its meditative thought. The opening stanza, for example:
"'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!"
Byron's passion for his young Greek page, however unrequited, reminds me of similar feelings shared by so many of us in the ensuing years. He goes on to recount the fear of aging and the pain of his longing among other feelings. I wonder if he would have traded a few more years of such feelings for the few months that remained in his brief life?
"'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it hath ceased to move:
Yet, though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!"
Byron's passion for his young Greek page, however unrequited, reminds me of similar feelings shared by so many of us in the ensuing years. He goes on to recount the fear of aging and the pain of his longing among other feelings. I wonder if he would have traded a few more years of such feelings for the few months that remained in his brief life?
November 16, 2011
Thank god for Penguin classics, they always make the weighty stuff seem so manageable for mere mortals. Case in point, Byron. If you are a collector of real books, you know that his entire collection is rather large, so it's nice to have a mass paperback version that can be held in the hand.
Byron was a truly strange dude, compared to his contemporaries. Today, he would be the Kelly Slater of poets, probably surfing Malibu while writing verses in the sand. His death was tragic, which made his poems even more so. Penguin does a truly terrific job in putting together some of his shorter poems with his Childe Harold and Don Juan opuses.
With this book, and a bottle of Red Ranch cherry cider, I shall go no more a-roving so late into the night.
Book Season = Spring (when the day returns too soon)
Byron was a truly strange dude, compared to his contemporaries. Today, he would be the Kelly Slater of poets, probably surfing Malibu while writing verses in the sand. His death was tragic, which made his poems even more so. Penguin does a truly terrific job in putting together some of his shorter poems with his Childe Harold and Don Juan opuses.
With this book, and a bottle of Red Ranch cherry cider, I shall go no more a-roving so late into the night.
Book Season = Spring (when the day returns too soon)
October 10, 2020
I didn't know how much I loved the English language until I read Lord Byron
She Walks in Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens over her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and over that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
She Walks in Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens over her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and over that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
June 10, 2021
Su padre un hombre que vivió del derroche y los placeres carnales. Su madre un carácter terrible... De su padre heredo el gusto por la cultura y su gusto por una vida licenciosa. De su madre la ternura, la dulzura y su horrible temperamento.
En el poema hacia Grecia se nota cuánto sabía de tan hermosa civilización.
En el poema hacia Grecia se nota cuánto sabía de tan hermosa civilización.
February 16, 2021
Lord "dramatic ass of million words" Byron
September 13, 2021
It has my favorite poem in it so it has to be 5 stars 😂
May 22, 2023
There was a lot to appreciate in Byron’s rhymes, but much is too flippant and lacking any real sense of poetic sensibility for my taste. He also spends far too long digging out Wordsworth Coleridge and Southey (however well deserved).
March 5, 2022
Nice book
September 29, 2024
Byron.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 181 reviews