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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
Like
Wave
Trunks
Tree
Weeds
Either
Waves
Hand
Fierce
Tether
Break
Weed
Whirled
White
March
Uplifted
Hands
Sand
Drifted
Together
Weather
Foam
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His speech is a burning fire.
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Hope knows not if fear speaks truth, nor fear whether hope be blind as she.
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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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Doubt is faith in the main: but faith, on the whole, is doubt We cannot believe by proof: but could we believe without?
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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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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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In the world of dreams, I have chosen my part.
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Despair the twin-born of devotion.
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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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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.
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Though one were fair as roses His beauty clouds and closes.
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Let weakness learn meekness.
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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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On the mountains of memory by the world's wellsprings, in all man's eyes, where the light of life of him is on all past things, death only dies.
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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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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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There is no safety-net to protect against attraction.
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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.
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Stately, kindly, lordly friend Condescend Here to sit by me.
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Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time with a gift of tears, Grief with a glass that ran .
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