War, war is still the cry,—"war even to the knife!"[541:1]
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 86.
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 2.
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 2.
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 2.
The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.[541:2]
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto ii. Stanza 6.