Byron as an embryo, behold the unborn Byron grow. His budding brain grows ears and eyes. Soon he swells to twice his size. He drinks in with his mother's blood a subtle, philosophic food distilled from that good woman's sense a strong poetic influence. She calls him and he answers back, from the amniotic sac: (he says) "Spread the word, tomorrow morn a future poet shall be born. From my mother I shall fall into the womb that holds us all. My life shall be a meteor which generations shall adore. For my unbu*toned liberty the unborn will remember me."