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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.
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
Thing
Articulate
Dumb
Painter
Essence
Poet
Artist
More quotes by Algernon Charles Swinburne
I will go back to the great sweet mother, Mother and lover of men, the sea. I will go down to her, I and no other, Close with her, kiss her and mix her with me.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
My loss may shine yet goodlier than your gain When Time and God give judgment.
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
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
A young man with a very good past. [Fr., Un jeune homme d'un bien beau passe.]
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Today will die tomorrow.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
I have lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love hath an end
Algernon Charles Swinburne
For words divide and rend But silence is most noble till the end.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Love is more cruel than lust.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Though one were fair as roses His beauty clouds and closes.
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
Faith speaks when hope is disassembled faith lives when hope dies dead.
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
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
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
Change lays her hand not upon the truth.
Algernon Charles Swinburne