The Spell Is Broke, the Charm Is Flown!
The spell is broke; the charm is flown!
Thus is it with life’s fitful fever:
We madly smile when we should groan:
Delirium is our best deceiver.
Each lucid interval of thought
Recalls the woes of Nature’s charter;
And he that acts as wise men ought,
But lives, as saints have died, a martyr.
Other works by Lord Byron...
Answer to Some Elegant Verses Sent by a Friend to the Author, Complaining That One of His Descriptions Was Rather Too Warmly Drawn
‘But if any old lady, knight, prie… Should condemn me for printing a s… If good Madam Squintum my work sh… May I venture to give her a smack… CANDOUR compels me, BECHER!…
