Related:

• The nympholepsy of some fond despair.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 115...
• Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 183...
• Man! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 109...
• Tully was not so eloquent as thou, Thou nameless column with the buried base.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 110...
• Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 42...
• Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 115...
• The Niobe of nations! there she stands.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 79...
• Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vai
  Man marks the earth with ruin,--his control Stops with the shore....
• Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow,-- Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 182...