But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
Lord ByronNo more we meet in yonder bowers Absence has made me prone to roving; But older, firmer hearts than ours, Have found monotony in loving.
Lord ByronStill from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.
Lord Byron