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Freedom

(from "childe harold's pilgrimage")

Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, bur flying,
Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind;
Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying,
The loudest still the tempest leaves behind;
Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind,
Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth,
But the sap lasts, - and still the seed we find
Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North;
So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth.


George Gordon Lord Byron . 1788-1824
 
 






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Freedom - George Gordon Lord Byron - poetry, poems

poetry-love-poems.com is a poetry project to make a poetry collection avaliable on the internet to enable our users to read the poems online. The poetry, classical poem, love poems, etc. are taken from old, antiquarian books and are in parts added with further informations.