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Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean the world has grown grey from thy breath/ We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death

Algernon Charles Swinburne

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Algernon Charles Swinburne
Age: 72 †
Born: 1837
Born: April 5
Died: 1909
Died: April 10
Literary Critic
Poet
Writer
London
England
Algernon Swinburne
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Algernon Charles Swiburne
Pale
Drunken
Grown
Heathen
Breath
Hast
Breaths
Pagan
Thou
Conquered
Death
Fullness
Things
Feds
World
Grey

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I that have love and no more Give you but love of you, sweet He that hath more, let him give He that hath wings, let him soar Mine is the heart at your feet Here, that must love you to live.
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The sun is all about the world we see, the breath and strength of every spring.
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As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.
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Love, as is told by the seers of old, Comes as a butterfly tipped with gold, Flutters and flies in sunlit skies, Weaving round hearts that were one time cold.
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Heart's ease of pansy, pleasure or thought, Which would the picture give us of these? Surely the heart that conceived it sought Heart's ease.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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There was a poor poet named Clough, Whom his friends all united to puff, But the public, though dull, Had not such a skull As belonged to believers in Clough.
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White rose in red rose-garden Is not so white Snowdrops, that plead for pardon And pine for fright Because the hard East blows Over their maiden vows, Grow not as this face grows from pale to bright.
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From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever That dead men rise up never That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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I shall sleep, and move with the moving ships, Change as the winds change, veer in the tide.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Today will die tomorrow.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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In fierce March weather White waves break tether, And whirled together At either hand, Like weeds uplifted, The tree-trunks rifted In spars are drifted, Like foam or sand.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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On the mountains of memory by the world's wellsprings, in all man's eyes, where the light of life of him is on all past things, death only dies.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Wan February with weeping cheer, Whose cold hand guides the youngling year Down misty roads of mire and rime, Before thy pale and fitful face The shrill wind shifts the clouds apace Through skies the morning scarce may climb. Thine eyes are thick with heavy tears, But lit with hopes that light the year's.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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I remember the way we parted, The day and the way we met You hoped we were both broken-hearted And knew we should both forget.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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There lived a singer in France of old By the tideless dolorous midland sea. In a land of sand and rain and gold There shone one woman, and none but she.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Sorrow, on wing through the world for ever, Here and there for awhile would borrow Rest, if rest might haply deliver Sorrow.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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My loss may shine yet goodlier than your gain When Time and God give judgment.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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For winter's rains and ruins are over... And in Green under wood and cover Blossum by blossom the spring begins.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Then star nor sun shall waken, Nor any change of light: Nor sound of waters shaken, Nor any sound or sight: Nor wintry leaves nor vernal Nor days nor things diurnal Only the sleep eternal In an eternal night.
Algernon Charles Swinburne