Byron

Flames would spring up, just as rose and tulip do, from the garden’s soil, if you poured a drop or two on it from his cup, always on the boil.

England’s chilly climate did not suit his spirit. His heart’s message’s great ardour set aflame love’s messenger.

What a fairyland of beauty was created by his fancy! Seeing his epiphanies, youth goes into ecstasies.

But his genius, that high-soaring bird, left its nest to fall into a snare, which it preferred to soaring in the air.