He Who Grown Aged In This World Of Woe, In Deeds, Not Years, Piercing The Depths Of Life, So That No Wonder Waits Him.

He rush'd into the field, and foremost fighting fell.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 23...
I have not loved the world, nor the world me.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 113...
Years steal Fire from the mind as vigour from the limb, And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 8...
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 2...
Had sigh'd to many, though he loved but one.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto i, stanza 5...
He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 57...
Ah, happy years! once more who would not be a boy?
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto ii, Stanza 23...
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 32...
On the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar.
-- Lord Byron (1788-1824) -- Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto iii, Stanza 86...