Related:

• The careful pilot of my proper woe. -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Epistle to Augusta, Stanza 3
• Fare thee well! and if forever, Still forever fare thee well.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Fare thee well...
• Were 't the last drop in the well, As I gasp'd upon the brink, Ere my fainting spirit fell 'T is to thee that I would drink.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- To Thomas Moore...
• Alas! our young affections run to waste, Or water but the desert.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 120...
• The keenest pangs the wretched find Are rapture to the dreary void, The leafless desert of the mind, The waste of feelings unemployed.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- The Giaour, Line 957...
• Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister, That I might all forget the human race, And hating no one, love but only her!
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 177...
• A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- The Dream, Stanza 3
• As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee.
• There 's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- The Dream, Stanzas for Music...