Читать книгу Don Juan (With Byron's Biography) - Lord Byron - Страница 521

He entered in the house—his home no more,

For without hearts there is no home;—and felt

The solitude of passing his own door

Without a welcome: there he long had dwelt,

There his few peaceful days Time had swept o'er,

There his worn bosom and keen eye would melt

Over the innocence of that sweet child,

His only shrine of feelings undefiled.