“ Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. ”
Lord Byron, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1812). copy citation
| Author | Lord Byron |
|---|---|
| Source | Childe Harold's Pilgrimage |
| Topic | art |
| Date | 1812 |
| Language | English |
| Reference | |
| Note | |
| Weblink | http://www.gutenberg.org/files/5131/5131-h/5131-h.htm |
Context
“Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, Thine olives ripe as when Minerva smiled, And still his honeyed wealth Hymettus yields; There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, The freeborn wanderer of thy mountain air; Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare; Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair.
LXXXVIII.
Where'er we tread, 'tis haunted, holy ground; No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould, But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, Till the sense aches with gazing to behold The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon:”
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