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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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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
Hearted
Mets
Broken
Knew
Forget
Remember
Way
Parted
Hoped
More quotes by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain, Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tune That death smote silent when he smote again.
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Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
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The beast faith lives on its own dung.
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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.
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Change lays not her hand upon truth.
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Love is more cruel than lust.
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The sweetest flowers in all the world- A baby's hands.
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A baby's feet, like sea-shells pink Might tempt, should heaven see meet, An angel's lips to kiss, we think, A baby's feet.
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Wherever there is a grain of loyalty there is a glimpse of freedom.
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Forget that I remember And dream that I forget.
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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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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.
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But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.
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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.
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Body and spirit are twins: God only knows which is which.
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At the door of life by the gate of breath, There are worse things waiting for men than death.
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There is no safety-net to protect against attraction.
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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 laid his sleepless head On a thorny rose bed: And his eyes with tears were red, And pale his lips as the dead.
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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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