Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child!

[Gusty Wind]

[No message]

 

[His_sugar]

I don't understand how my box can be full if I have only 94 messages in it.

Did you check the sent messages folder?

 

[Desert Amazon]

 

[Byron In Exile]

Secure in guarded coldness, he had mix'd
Again in fancied safety with his kind,
And deem'd his spirit now so firmly fix'd
And sheath'd with an invulnerable mind,
That, if no joy, no sorrow lurk'd behind;
And he, as one, might 'midst the many stand
Unheeded, searching through the crowd to find
Fit speculation; such as in strange land
He found in wonder-works of God and Nature's hand.

 

[Byron In Exile]

But who can view the ripen'd rose, nor seek
To wear it? who can curiously behold
The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek,
Nor feel the heart can never all grow old?
Who can contemplate Fame through clouds unfold
The star which rises o'er her steep, nor climb?
Harold, once more within the vortex, roll'd
On with the giddy circle, chasing Time,
Yet with a nobler aim than in his youth's fond prime.

 

[Byron In Exile]

But soon he knew himself the most unfit
Of men to herd with Man; with whom he held
Little in common; untaught to submit
His thoughts to others, though his soul was quell'd
In youth by his own thoughts; still uncompell'd,
He would not yield dominion of his mind
To spirits against whom his own rebell'd;
Proud though in desolation; which could find
A life within itself, to breathe without mankind.

 

[Guest]

 

[Guest]

 

[Byron In Exile]

Ah, one of your poetry threads. What a breath of fresh air.

Is all well with you, By?

CHP, Canto III: All is well. It really doesn't get any better than this...

 

[Byron In Exile]

A few of my favorite people and verses in one thread *sighs*

icles

 

[Byron In Exile]

Where rose the mountains, there to him were friends;
Where roll'd the ocean, thereon was his home;
Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,
He had the passion and the power to roam;
The desert, forest, cavern, breaker's foam,
Were unto him companionship; they spake
A mutual language, clearer than the tome
Of his land's tongue, which he would oft forsake
For Nature's pages glass'd by sunbeams on the lake.

 

[Guest]

 

[Byron In Exile]

I'm glad

Kissicles... that's cute lol. I'll offer mine too (we're getting an ice storm this afternoon... foxy, send boots stat!)

No ice, and no rain.

Here, we could use some of that rain...

 

[Byron In Exile]

A few of my favorite people and verses in one thread *sighs*

*wishing he was in Emily-mode; but is in Byronic-mode at the moment...*

 

[Guest]

 

[Gusty Wind]

[No message]

 

[Byron In Exile]

I was outside barefoot in babydoll (summer) jammies at 5:15 this morning, getting my husband's car started so he could get into a warm car for his drive to the airport (he overslept), and it felt kind of balmy. The temp has been dropping ever since, the wind's started to blow, and it definitely feels like something nasty's about to drop.

Well, it sure dropped here! Was I saying something about wanting rain? For about an hour yesterday it would've sunk Noah. It's raining still, but now in a much more reasonable manner.

Meantime, to help us with visualization regarding your car-prepping activity, perhaps you could post pics of yourself in your summer jammies.

 

[Guest]

 

[Byron In Exile]

lmao--how about I post you my WEDDING PICTURE??

Hm... Were you wearing jammies?

 

[Byron In Exile]

Like the Chaldean, he could watch the stars
Till he had peopled them with beings bright
As their own beams; and earth, and earthborn jars
And human frailties, were forgotten quite:
Could he have kept his spirit to that flight
He had been happy; but this clay will sink
Its spark immortal, envying it the light
To which it mounts, as if to break the link
That keeps us from yon heaven which woos us to its brink

 

[Byron In Exile]

But in Man's dwellings he became a thing
Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome,
Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with clipp'd wing,
To whom the boundless air alone were home:
Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome,
As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat
His breast and beak against his wiry dome
Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat
Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat

 

[Byron In Exile]

Self-exil'd Harold wanders forth again,
With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom;
The very knowledge that he lived in vain,
That all was over on this side the tomb,
Had made Despair a smilingness assume,
Which, though 'twere wild — as on the plunder'd wreck
When mariners would madly meet their doom
With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck—
Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check

 

[Byron In Exile]

Stop! — for thy tread is on an Empire's dust!
An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below!
Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust?
Nor column trophied for triumphal show?
None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so:
As the ground was before, thus let it be;
How that red rain hath made the harvest grow!
And is this all the world has gain'd by thee,
Thou first and last of fields! king-making Victory?

 

[Gusty Wind]

.............

 

[Byron In Exile]

Byron!

Hi Gusty!

Canto III is just too huge.

I hate to clip it, but there doesn't seem any other way.