Then black despair,

The shadow of a starless night, was thrown

Over the world in which I moved alone.

Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822): The Revolt of Islam. Dedication. Stanza 6.

Now conscience wakes despair

That slumber'd,—wakes the bitter memory

Of what he was, what is, and what must be

Worse.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book iv. Line 23.

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean.

Tears from the depth of some divine despair

Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes,

In looking on the happy autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no more.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): The Princess. Part iv. Line 21.

The strongest and the fiercest spirit

That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book ii. Line 44.

Like strength is felt from hope and from despair.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Iliad of Homer. Book xv. Line 852.

Hark! to the hurried question of despair:

"Where is my child?"—an echo answers, "Where?"

Lord Byron 1788-1824: The Bride of Abydos. Canto ii. Stanza 27.

The nympholepsy of some fond despair.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 115.

Th' ethereal mould

Incapable of stain would soon expel

Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,

Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope

Is flat despair.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book ii. Line 139.

Shall I, wasting in despair,

Die because a woman's fair?

Or make pale my cheeks with care,

'Cause another's rosy are?

Be she fairer than the day,

Or the flowery meads in May,

If she be not so to me,

What care I how fair she be?

George Wither (1588-1667): The Shepherd's Resolution.

Now conscience wakes despair

That slumber'd,—wakes the bitter memory

Of what he was, what is, and what must be

Worse.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book iv. Line 23.

O star-eyed Science! hast thou wandered there,

To waft us home the message of despair?

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844): Pleasures of Hope. Part ii. Line 325.

None without hope e'er lov'd the brightest fair,

But love can hope where reason would despair.

Lord Lyttleton (1709-1773): Epigram.

Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,

And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 9.

Which way shall I fly

Infinite wrath and infinite despair?

Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell;

And in the lowest deep a lower deep,

Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide,

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book iv. Line 73.