These tender ruins try The memory: And we are walking there again, and the swans are there, and there the lake Winks back my tremoring look, While the sun ...
...when these hateful termes of Scottes and Englishemen, shalbe abolisshed, and blotted oute for euer, and we shal al agre in the onely title and name of Britons...
Byron was insouciant towards the risks he took. Many of his best passages are strikingly joyous and carefree, in prose that’s lambent, simple and brilliantly observed, as in this conclusion to a sunset at the shrine of Niamatullah: […]
Some men have mastodonic dicks and others have pencil dicks.
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