Related:

• Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 115...
• Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 115...
• There are some feelings time cannot benumb, Nor torture shake.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 19...
• I see before me the gladiator lie.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 140...
• O Rome! my country! city of the soul!
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 78...
• The starry Galileo with his woes.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 54...
• And what is writ is writ,-- Would it were worthier!
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 185...
• Fills The air around with beauty.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 49...
• Heaven gives its favourites--early death.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 102...