Lord Byron

Republicans like me might prefer to do away with hereditary titles and use a person's real name, even if they are one of the most celebrated poets in the English language, so I'll refer to this poet by the more appropriate name of George Gordon.  George was a prolific writer and something of a rogue.  London's Sun newspaper ran an article in 2008 entitled "Lord Byron's Life of Bling, Booze and Groupie Sex" but I haven't bothered to read it. His best-known poem is this one.

She walks in beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies; 
And all that’s best of dark and bright 
Meet in her aspect and her eyes; 
Thus mellowed to that tender light 
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less, 
Had half impaired the nameless grace 
Which waves in every raven tress, 
Or softly lightens o’er her face; 
Where thoughts serenely sweet express, 
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, 
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 
But tell of days in goodness spent, 
A mind at peace with all below, 
A heart whose love is innocent!


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