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When the hounds of Spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain.

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
Fills
Spring
Lisp
Places
Shadows
Meadow
Months
Motherhood
Hounds
Mother
Plain
Windy
Leaves
Traces
Winter
Ripple
Rain
Meadows
Shadow

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I have lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love hath an end
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In friendship's fragrant garden, There are flowers of every hue. Each with its own fair beauty And its gift of joy for you. Friendship's Garden If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together In sad or singing weather.
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Sleep and if life was bitter to thee, pardon, If sweet, give thanks thou hast no more to live And to give thanks is good, and to forgive.
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The sweetest flowers in all the world- A baby's hands.
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No blast of air or fire of sun Puts out the light whereby we run With girdled loins our lamplit race, And each from each takes heart of grace And spirit till his turn be done.
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Love lies bleeding in the bed whereover Roses lean with smiling mouths or pleading: Earth lies laughing where the sun's dart clove her: Love lies bleeding.
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Body and spirit are twins: God only knows which is which.
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There is no safety-net to protect against attraction.
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I shall sleep, and move with the moving ships, Change as the winds change, veer in the tide.
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While three men hold together, the kingdoms are less by three.
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Our way is where God knows And Love knows where: We are in Love's hand to-day.
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I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep.
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His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep.
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To say of shame - what is it? Of virtue - we can miss it Of sin-we can kiss it, And it's no longer sin.
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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
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Hope knows not if fear speaks truth, nor fear whether hope be blind as she.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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The delight that consumes the desire, The desire that outruns the delight.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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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.
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Love laid his sleepless head On a thorny rose bed: And his eyes with tears were red, And pale his lips as the dead.
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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