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While three men hold together, the kingdoms are less by three.
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
Less
Three
Political
Together
Men
Kingdoms
Hold
Politics
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The loves and hours of the life of a man, They are swift and sad, being born of the sea.
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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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Wherever there is a grain of loyalty there is a glimpse of freedom.
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Is not Precedent indeed a King of men? A Word from the Psalmist.
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Who knows but on their sleep may rise Such light as never heaven let through To lighten earth from Paradise?
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The delight that consumes the desire, The desire that outruns the delight.
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A young man with a very good past. [Fr., Un jeune homme d'un bien beau passe.]
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God's own hand Holds fast all issues of our deeds: with him The end of all our ends is, but with us Our ends are, just or unjust: though our works Find righteous or unrighteous judgment, this At least is ours, to make them righteous.
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The tadpole poet will never grow into anything bigger than a frog.
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Change lays not her hand upon truth.
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Fruits fail and love dies and time rangesThou art fed with perpetual breath, and alive after infinite changes,And fresh from the kisses of death,Of langours rekindled and rallied, Of barren delights and unclean,Things monstrous and fruitless, a pallidAnd poisonous queen.
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Though one were fair as roses His beauty clouds and closes.
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His speech is a burning fire.
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Marvellous mercies and infinite love.
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In the world of dreams, I have chosen my part. To sleep for a season and hear no word Of true love's truth or of light love's art, Only the song of a secret bird.
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The beast faith lives on its own dung.
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Forget that I remember And dream that I forget.
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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.
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Change lays her hand not upon the truth.
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There is no such thing as a dumb poet or a handless painter. The essence of an artist is that he should be articulate.
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