I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion, and that there is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state? Lord Byron, in a letter to Thomas Moore, 5 July 1821
(in alphabetical order)
And Thou Art
Dead, as Young and Fair
By the Rivers of Babylon We Sat Down and Wept
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Cantos One through Four
Darkness
Dear
Doctor, I Have Read Your Play
The
Destruction of Sennacherib
Don Juan:
Dedication
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English
Bards and Scotch Reviewers
Epistle to
Augusta
Fare Thee
Well
Farewell!
If Ever Fondest Prayer
The Harp the Monarch Minstrel Swept
I Would I
Were a Careless Child
Inscription on the
Monument of a Newfoundland Dog
Lachin Y
Gair
Lara
Lines Inscribed
Upon a Cup Formed from a Skull
Lines to Mr.
Hodgson Written on Board the Lisbon Packet
Oh!
Snatched Away in Beauty's Bloom
On This Day I
Complete My Thirty-sixth Year
Please note: The following poems will be added eventually; I
apologize for any inconvenience.
Until then, please visit Bartleby.com's Lord Byron
page which includes many of his works.
She Walks in Beauty
So We'll Go No More a Roving
Song of Saul
Before His Last Battle
Sonnet on Chillon
Sonnet to Lake Leman
Stanzas for Music 1815
Stanzas for Music 1816
Stanzas to Augusta
Stanzas Written on the Road Between Florence and Pisa
The Vision of Judgment
The World is a Bundle of Hay
To a
Beautiful Quaker
To Edward Noel Long, Esq.
To a Lady Who Presented
to the Author a Lock of Hair Braided with His Own, and Appointed at a Night
in December to Meet Him in the Garden
To M.S.G. (manuscript titled
"G.G.B. to E.P.")
To Thyrza
Versicles
When Coldness Wraps This Suffering Clay
When a Man Hath No Freedom to
Fight for at Home
When We Two Parted
Written After Swimming from
Sestos to Abydos