Earth Is Enough

We men of Earth have here the stuff

Of Paradise - we have enough!
We need no other stones to build
The Temple of the Unfulfilled -
No other ivory for the doors -
No other marble for the floors -
No other cedar for the beam
And dome of man's immortal dream.

Here on the paths of every-day -
Here on the common human way
Is all the stuff the gods would take
To build a Heaven, to mold and make
New Edens. Ours is the stuff sublime
To build Eternity in time!

Preparedness

For all your days prepare, 

And meet them ever alike:
When you are the anvil, bear—
When you are the hammer, strike.

She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Note: By one account, while at a ball, Byron happened upon Mrs. John Wilmot, his cousin by marriage. He was struck by her unusual beauty, and the next morning the poem was written. She was in mourning, wearing a black dress set with spangles, which would explain the opening lines;
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies ”
However, Nathan, in his reminiscences of Byron, indicates that the subject of the poem may have been Byron's half-sister, Augusta. (Source)

Sonnet 1

From fairest creatures we desire increase, 

That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.

Pity the world, or else this glutton be,

To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

Note: This sonnet is for a male friend of his who is apparently very good looking. He implores him to procreate so that his beauty lives on for others to enjoy instead of creating "a famine where abundance lies". This man is his own enemy and doesn't take hold of the opportunity while he still has his youth and his hoarding his gifts. He should pity this world and let it have some of his beauty or like the grave consumes all he is also 'eating' what is due to the world. For more details, see here.

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep, 

And nodding by the fire, take down this book, 

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look 

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; 

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true, 

But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you, 

And loved the sorrows of your changing face; 

And bending down beside the glowing bars, 

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled 

And paced upon the mountains overhead 

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Note: The poet is trying to impress upon the woman that while people love her for her outward graces and beauty, he is the only one who loves her for who she is. He doesn't want her to regret not growing old together. Here's an analysis.

Sonnet 138

When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearnèd in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth supressed.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
Oh, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told.

Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered by.

Note: Sonnet 138 is about the lies we tell ourselves to remain happy. He has a mistress who swears to her honesty, and he believes her in spite of knowing its all lies. This way she thinks him young and naive. In this way they fool each other: he is not young and she is not honest. But why do they choose to do this? Because its easier to just flatter each other, and live a happy, flattering lie.

Myself

I have to live with myself and so
I want to be fit for myself to know.
I want to be able as days go by,
always to look myself straight in the eye;
I don't want to stand with the setting sun
and hate myself for the things I have done.
I don't want to keep on a closet shelf
a lot of secrets about myself
and fool myself as I come and go
into thinking no one else will ever know
the kind of person I really am,
I don't want to dress up myself in sham.
I want to go out with my head erect
I want to deserve all men's respect;
but here in the struggle for fame and wealth
I want to be able to like myself.
I don't want to look at myself and know that
I am bluster and bluff and empty show.
I never can hide myself from me;
I see what others may never see;
I know what others may never know,
I never can fool myself and so,
whatever happens I want to be
self respecting and conscience free.