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George Gordon Byron
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George Gordon Byron
(1788–1824)
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All poems by George Gordon Byron on Kalliope, ordered alphabetically by the first line of the text. The list can be used to find a poem when the title is unknown.
A
Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Ah!- What should follow slips from my reflection
As o’er the cold sepulchral stone
A spirit pass’d before me: I beheld
Away, away, ye notes of woe!
B
Bob Southey! You ’re a poet- Poet-laureate
Bright be the place of thy soul!
C
Chill and mirk is the nightly blast
Come, blue-eyed maid of heaven!—but thou, alas
F
Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine
Fare thee well! and if for ever
Farewell! If ever fondest prayer
Francisca walks in the shadow of night
From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome
H
Hail, Muse! et cetera.- We left Juan sleeping
I
If from great nature’s or our own abyss
If that high world, which lies beyond
I now mean to be serious;- it is time
In the valley of the waters we wept o’er the day
I saw thee weep — the big bright tear
I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name
Is thy face like thy mother’s, my fair child!
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs
It is known, at least it should be, that throughout
It is the hour when from the boughs
[It Is the Hour]
It is the hour when from the boughs
[Parisina]
I want a hero: an uncommon want
I would I were a careless child
L
Long years!—It tries the thrilling frame to bear
M
Montgomery! true, the common lot
My soul is dark — Oh! quickly string
N
Nothing so difficult as a beginning
Not in those climes where I have late been straying
O
Of all the barbarous middle ages, that
Oh blood and thunder! and oh blood and wounds!
Oh, Mariamne! now for thee
Oh never talk again to me
Oh! snatch’d away in beauty’s bloom
Oh, thou, in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth
Oh! weep for those that wept by Babel’s stream
Oh, Wellington! (or ’Villainton’- for Fame
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations
O Love! O Glory! what are ye who fly
On Jordan’s banks the Arab’s camels stray
Our life is twofold: Sleep hath its own world
S
Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate
She walks in beauty like the night
Since our Country, our God — Oh, my Sire!
Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!
T
The antique Persians taught three useful things
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold
The chain I gave was fair to view
The harp the monarch minstrel swept
The isles of Greece!
The King was on his throne
The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left
The lamp must be replenish’d, but even then
There be none of Beauty’s daughters
There is a tide in the affairs of men
There’s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away
The wild gazelle on Judah’s hills
The world is full of orphans: firstly, those
They say that Hope is happiness
Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue
Though the day of my destiny’s over
Thou whose spell can raise the dead
Through cloudless skies, in silvery sheen
Thy days are done, thy fame begun
Tis done—but yesterday a King!
W
Warriors and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
Were my bosom as false as thou deem’st it to be
We sat down and wept by the waters
What is the hour?
When all around grew drear and dark
When amatory poets sing their loves
When Bishop Berkeley said ’there was no matter
When coldness wraps this suffering clay
When I rov’d a young Highlander o’er the dark heath
When Newton saw an apple fall, he found
