#romantic poet

[heartofmuse]

To be embraced by your honest desire and the wild passion in your heart. Oh, the electricity that you unleash! The fire in me unfurls its petals to kiss you, consume you. Burn me and burn with me, remake our souls into a white flame painted with blue.

e.v.e.

[mouseshouses]

Romantic poet

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Happy 236th birthday to my favorite poet

George Gordon Byron, (22 January 1788 – 19 April 1824)

The Destruction of Sennacherib First published in 1815 The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.

Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail: And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!

[poetrybyonur]

You have made your abode behind the curtain of my eyelids, behind the pupil of my eyes.

[houppellande]

Read till end for Byron's memoirs 👀​👀​👀​

Wedding attire of Lady Annabella Byron (nee Milbanke) aka Lord Byron's wife. Yes. THAT Byron. From this simple but tasteful ensemble one can somewhat understand her character (and the fate of the marriage) a bit better.

J. C. Hobhouse, Byron's best man, describes her as such on that day:

[...] Miss Milbanke came in attended by her governess, the respectable Miss Clermont. She was dressed in a muslin gown trimmed with lace at the bottom, with a white muslin curricle jacket, very plain indeed, with nothing on her head. [...]

Miss Milbanke was as firm as a rock, and during the whole ceremony looked steadily at Byron – she repeated the words audibly and well. Byron hitched at first when he said “I, George Gordon”, and when he came to “with all my worldly goods I thee endow”, looked at me with a half-smile – they were married at eleven.

And this Lord Byron's wedding waistcoat, who is said to have belonged to King George the 2nd of England (it was re-taylored for regency fashion), and which Byron wore often.

And now for something completely different! An excerpt from the lost Memoirs of Lord Byron. While the manuscript itself was destroyed, many people read (and copied!) some parts. The editor of The John Bull Magazine (1824, on which the following excerpt was published) has of course made some "mutilations" (aka censorship), but the text seems genuine, and Byron's cheeky prose style manages to shine through. Some (including the Magazine's Author) say that THIS EXACT CHAPTER was the main reason for the burning of the Memoirs.

TW: dubious consent . . .

It was now near two o’clock in the morning, and I was jaded to the soul by the delay. I had left the company, and retired to a private apartment. Will those, who think that a bridegroom on his bridal night should be so thoroughly saturated with love, as to render it impossible for him to yield to any other feeling, pardon me when I say, that I had almost fallen asleep on a sofa, when a giggling, tittering, half-blushing face popped itself into the door, and popped as fast back again, after having whispered as audibly as a suivante whispers upon the stage, that Anne was in bed? It was one of her bridemaids. Yet such is the case. I was actually dozing. Matrimony begins very soon to operate narcotically—had it been a mistress—had it been an assignation with any animal, covered with a petticoat—any thing but a wife—why, perhaps, the case would have been different.

I found my way, however, at once into the bed-room, and tore off my garments. Your pious zeal will, I am sure, be quite shocked, when I tell you I did not say my prayers that evening—morning I mean. It was, I own, wrong in me, who had been educated in the pious and praying kingdom of Scotland, and must confess myself—you need not smile—at least half a Presbyterian. Miss N—l—should I yet say Lady Byron?—had turned herself away to the most remote verge, and tightly enwrapped herself in the bed-clothes. I called her by her name—her Christian name—her pet name—every name of endearment—I spoke in the softest under tones—in the most melodious upper tones of which my voice is master. She made no answer, but lay still, and I stole my arm under her neck, which exerted all the rigidity of all its muscles to prevent the (till then undreamt of) invasion. I turned up her head—but still not a word. With gentle force I removed the close-pressed folds of the sheet from her fine form—you must let me say that of her, unfashionable as it is, and unused as I have been to paying her compliments—she resisting all the while. After all, there is nothing like a coup de main in love or war. I conquered by means of one, with the other arm, for I had got it round her waist, and using all my strength, (and what is that of a woman, particularly a woman acting the modeste, to that of a vigorous fellow, who had cleft the Hellespont,) drew her to my arms, which now clasped her to my bosom with all the warmth of glowing, boiling passion, and all the pride of victory. I pressed my lips warmly to hers. There was no return of the pressure. I pressed them again and again—slightly at last was I answered, but still that slightly was sufficient. Ce n’est que la premiere pas qui coute. She had not, however, opened her lips. I put my hand upon her heart, and it palpitated with a strong and audible beating under my touch. Heaven help it! it little knew how much more reason it would, ere long, have for more serious and more lasting throbbings.As yet she had not uttered a word, and I was becoming tired of her obstinancy. I made, therefore, a last appeal. ‘Are you afraid of me, dearest?’—I uttered, in a half-fond, half-querulous, tone. It broke the ice. She answered in a low, timid, and subdued voice—‘I am not,’—and turned to me, for the first time, with that coy and gentle pressure which is, perhaps, the dearest and most delightful of all sensations ever to be enjoyed by man. I knew by it that I had conquered. 

(Please keep in mind that, while I consider myself a Byron enthusiast, I almost never agree with his choiches/courses of action. If you want my personal opinion, i'll be happy to exchange insights!)

[opheliapenning]

‘Hum me that ditty you sang when you told me the world was ours’     

Ophelia Penning 

La Belle Dame Sans Merci, Frank Dicksee

[briarslight]

in a world of fives she's the only one —

the only one that's impossible to resist.

she must have been twice blessed by napaian apollo's kiss —

with her slightly tanned smooth skin — a smile rivaling eos, lighting up the morning skies — thalassa's coral shames at the sight of her coral lips —

for every step she strides she walks with pride, the most gorgeous lioness, radiating charismatic vitality —

she's a queen, with an unreplicable majesty

that's bold and blinding, akin to thrace's ares —

and yet — i expected nothing less from my dearest lady

with dark eyes that shine and leo as her rising sun —

and now i see — other than me, my divine mistress aphrodite has blessed none —

for in a world of fives, i am her chosen one.

— she's the only one. | @briarslight

[junflower123]

I was scrolling through Instagram I saw an ad for IKEA bedsheets They were your bedsheets

We never slept together But, we did share a bed on the weekends It was my refuge from my chaotic family life

You were my refuge. My safety My home My soulmate Of some kind

I’ve never really known how to define it I’ve never really known how to define us Besides by our undiagnosed neurodivergence And playing in the closet Made of glass windows that we were too short to look through

Once I became tall enough, I left the closet You soon after I outgrew out home So you let him in Knowing he won’t ever grow too tall

I hope that someday, you learn to love yourself as much as I loved you.

[ishanispoems]

Dancing in the Rain

There's nothing more romantic

Than dancing in the rain

With your lover

Wet clothes,

Wet hair,

But both of you don't care

After this,

You know that

Both of you will get a cold

But all you want to think of

Is the happiness

Of dancing under raindrops

[miakate-writes]

him

He feels like a sanctuary,

He’s an oasis in a vast plane of nothingness,

And a lighthouse on the dark coast,

I’ve never felt more safe and cared about,

He knows what books I like and what music,

He knows how I like my coffee and what makes me mad,

Sometimes I think we share a mind,

Intertwined by thoughts and common jokes,

When everyone else has been dramatic,

He is the first to bring me peace,

It’s nice,

I like being liked.

- by me

[cannedbluesblog]

"I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone" Lord Byron

[seoul-bros]

Me, Myself and Jimin 'ID : Chaos' Concept Film 2

Post Date: 27/09/2022

[whimsifae]

[wedarkacademia]

Andrea Gibson

[houppellande]

20th April 2024 To Lord G.G. Byron, who got me through CoviD and through one of the darkest periods of my life. To a complicated, messy and very human man, who taught my younger self to take more risks in relationships and in life's experiences, & who showed me that perfection is overrated. I really owe this guy a part of my personal growth in recent years. With his good (and bad) example, he is proof that humanity, with its thousands of worries and desires, truly trascends time and space. B was in no way a paragon of virtue, he had very dark behaviours and opinions which I can't fully digest (nor do I think I ever will), but he sure did have a nice brain. He poured all his soul in his poems & letters, and he put down on paper some universal truths and feelings that we all feel and know but which we are often not able to express. Some of them are less universal, but still. Thank you B

Happy 200th Deathday! (+1) 🔥🔥🔥​

P.s. I think if he could see the one-note rakish reputation he has nowadays, he'll be equally stoked and angry (depending on the day)

[eternocosmo]