:01:58
How beautifully dramatic.
:02:01
The crudest, savage, exhibition
of nature at her worst, without,
:02:05
and we three, we elegant three, within.
:02:10
I should like to think that an irate Jehovah
:02:12
was pointing those arrows
of lightning directly at my head.
:02:15
The unbowed head of George Gordon,
Lord Byron, England's greatest sinner.
:02:21
But I cannot flatter myself to that extent.
:02:24
Possibly those thunders
are for our dear Shelley.
:02:26
Heaven's applause
for England's greatest poet.
:02:30
- What of my Mary?
- She is an ángel.
:02:33
You think so?
:02:37
You hear?
:02:39
Come, Mary. Come and watch the storm.
:02:41
You know how lightning alarms me.
:02:44
Shelley, darling, will you please
light these candles for me?
:02:48
Mary, darling.
:02:50
Astonishing creature.
:02:52
- I, Lord Byron?
- Frightened of thunder, fearful of the dark.
:02:57
And yet you have written a tale
that sent my blood into icy creeps.