Speaking of Byron, He has a decent webstie, which is even part of a Lord Byron webring. The first site has posted this bit from Don Juan:
But words are things, and a small drop of ink,I'd say the ink and paper still has a good chance of outlasting this digital manifestation of Byron's words, but the digital version is, for the time being, probably far more effectively viral. I'm struck by the convenience of being able to conjure up the ghost of Byron, or anyone else famous, with a few keystrokes and clicks of the mouse, but I do miss the atmosphere of the musty old libraries in which I once made such discoveries (with considerably more effort, though.) Probably just curmudgeonly nostalgia, perhaps brought on by the sound of rain which reminds me of how, when I used to wander the streets of Los Angeles, I would, on those occasions when caught by a sudden storm, prefer to take refuge in the nearest library or bookstore and spend the hours rooting through printed pages, sometimes stumbling on a bit of unexpected enlightenment. I suppose that in the future there will be many people who will experience a similar nostalgia about surfing the Internet via their laptops at Starbuck's. We all get trapped in our eras to some extent, even when engaged in activities that transcend them.
Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think;
'Tis strange, the shortest letter which man uses
Instead of speech, may form a lasting link
Of ages; to what straits old Time reduces
Frail man, when paper - even a rag like this - ,
Survives himself, his tomb, and all that's his.
But I ramble.
This rain has the definite feel of spring about it. Though I had no sight of the sun today, I sensed its presence and its seasonally increasing power. There was brightness in the falling drops, and the air was far more mild than it was a few days ago. Tomorrow may bring thunderstorms. I am pleased. Probably not as pleased as those hawks, but pleased.