Related:

• O Rome! my country! city of the soul!
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 78...
• And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 32...
• He rush'd into the field, and foremost fighting fell.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 23...
• The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 6...
• He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 5...
• Ungrateful Florence! Dante sleeps afar, Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iv, Stanza 57...
• All tenantless, save to the crannying wind.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 47...
• And there was mounting in hot haste.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 25...
• By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone.
  -- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 71...