Man

Poem by Alphonse De Lamartine Collection Poetic MeditationsPeriod 19th century

To Lord Byron

You, whose true name the world still does not know,
Mysterious spirit, mortal, angel, or demon,
Whoever you are, Byron, good or fatal genius,
I love the savage harmony of your concerts,
As I love the noise of thunder and of winds
Mingling in the storm with the voice of torrents!
Night is your dwelling, horror is your domain:
The eagle, king of deserts, thus disdains the plain
He wants, like you, only steep rocks
That winter has whitened, that lightning has struck;
Shores covered with the wreckage of shipwreck,
Or fields all blackened by the remnants of carnage.

Alphonse de Lamartine

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