Related:

• Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! They come!
  hey come!" -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 25...
• All tenantless, save to the crannying wind.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 47...
• Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 1...
• And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 32...
• Battle's magnificently stern array.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 28...
• But quiet to quick bosoms is a hell.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 42...
• By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 71...
• He rush'd into the field, and foremost fighting fell.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 23...
• In solitude, where we are least alone.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 90...