The sight of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, As the first wine-cup leads to the long revel.
Lord ByronThe cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,-too many, yet how few!
Lord ByronThe sight of blood to crowds begets the thirst of more, As the first wine-cup leads to the long revel.
Lord ByronThe cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,-too many, yet how few!
Lord Byron