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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
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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
White
March
Uplifted
Hands
Sand
Drifted
Together
Weather
Foam
Like
Wave
Trunks
Tree
Weeds
Either
Waves
Hand
Fierce
Tether
Break
Weed
Whirled
More quotes by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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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When fate has allowed to any man more than one great gift, accident or necessity seems usually to contrive that one shall encumber and impede the other.
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Though one were fair as roses His beauty clouds and closes.
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There is no God found stronger than death and death is a sleep.
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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 delight that consumes the desire, The desire that outruns the delight.
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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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As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.
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To have read the greatest works of any great poet, to have beheld or heard the greatest works of any great painter or musician, is a possession added to the best things of life.
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Change lays not her hand upon truth.
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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.
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Is not Precedent indeed a King of men? A Word from the Psalmist.
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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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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.
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Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day that we die.
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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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Forget that I remember And dream that I forget.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
The sweetest flowers in all the world- A baby's hands.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.
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