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At the door of life by the gate of breath, There are worse things waiting for men than 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
Life
Door
Worse
Doors
Waiting
Fear
Gate
Death
Gates
Things
Breath
Men
Breaths
More quotes by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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
In hawthorn-time the heart grows light.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
She knows not loves that kissed her She knows not where. Art thou the ghost, my sister, White sister there, Am I the ghost, who knows? My hand, a fallen rose, Lies snow-white on white snows, and takes no care.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
To wipe off the froth of falsehood from the foaming lips of inebriated virtue, when fresh from the sexless orgies of morality and reeling from the delirious riot of religion, may doubtless be a charitable office.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time with a gift of tears, Grief with a glass that ran .
Algernon Charles Swinburne
For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins And time remembered isgrief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Love is more cruel than lust.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
The loves and hours of the life of a man, They are swift and sad, being born of the sea.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
The more congenial page of some tenth-rate poeticule worn out with failure after failure and now squat in his hole like the tailless fox, he is curled up to snarl and whimper beneath the inaccessible vine of song.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
O Love, O great god Love, what have I done, That thou shouldst hunger so after my death? My heart is harmless as my life's first day: Seek out some false fair woman, and plague her Till her tears even as my tears fill her bed.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
For the crown of our life as it closes Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust No thorns go as deep as a rose's, And love is more cruel than lust. Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives And marriage and death and division Make barren our lives.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Yet leave me not yet, if thou wilt, be free love me no more, but love my love of thee.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
For winter's rains and ruins are over... And in Green under wood and cover Blossum by blossom the spring begins.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
And lo, between the sundawn and the sun His day's work and his night's work are undone: And lo, between the nightfall and the light, He is not, and none knoweth of such an one.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
The beast faith lives on its own dung.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
