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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
Either
Waves
Hand
Fierce
Tether
Break
Weed
Whirled
White
March
Uplifted
Hands
Sand
Drifted
Together
Weather
Foam
Like
Wave
Trunks
Tree
Weeds
More quotes by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Not with dreams, but with blood and with iron, Shall a nation be moulded at last.
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The sun is all about the world we see, the breath and strength of every spring.
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Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives.
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We, drinking love at the furthest springs, Covered with love as a covering tree, We had grown as gods, as the gods above, Filled from the heart to the lips with love, Held fast in his hands, clothed warm with his wings, O love, my love, had you loved but me!
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I have lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love hath an end
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Faith speaks when hope is disassembled faith lives when hope dies 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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Yet leave me not yet, if thou wilt, be free love me no more, but love my love of thee.
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The highest spiritual quality, the noblest property of mind a man can have, is this of loyalty.
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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.
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Heart's ease of pansy, pleasure or thought, Which would the picture give us of these? Surely the heart that conceived it sought Heart's ease.
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Ask nothing more of me sweet All I can give you I give Heart of my heart were it more, More would be laid at your feet.
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When the hounds of Spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain.
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The tadpole poet will never grow into anything bigger than a frog not though in that stage of development he should puff and blow himself till he bursts with windy adulation at the heels of the laureled ox.
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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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We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure Today will die tomorrow Time stoops to no man's lure.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Today will die tomorrow.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
White rose in red rose-garden Is not so white Snowdrops, that plead for pardon And pine for fright Because the hard East blows Over their maiden vows, Grow not as this face grows from pale to bright.
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