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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
Hand
Fierce
Tether
Break
Weed
Whirled
White
March
Uplifted
Hands
Sand
Drifted
Together
Weather
Foam
Like
Wave
Trunks
Tree
Weeds
Either
Waves
More quotes by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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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A young man with a very good past. [Fr., Un jeune homme d'un bien beau passe.]
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There is no God found stronger than death and death is a sleep.
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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
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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His speech is a burning fire.
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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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Not with dreams, but with blood and with iron, Shall a nation be moulded at last.
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But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.
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Wherever there is a grain of loyalty there is a glimpse of freedom.
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Faith speaks when hope is disassembled faith lives when hope dies dead.
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If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together In sad or singing weather.
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O Love, O great god Love, what have I done, That thou shouldst hunger so after my death? My heart is harmless as my life's first day: Seek out some false fair woman, and plague her Till her tears even as my tears fill her bed.
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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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There grows No herb of help to heal a coward heart.
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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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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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From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever That dead men rise up never That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
In hawthorn-time the heart grows light.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain We'd hunt down Love together, Pluck out his flying-feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain.
Algernon Charles Swinburne