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As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.
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
Self
Slain
Altar
Altars
Lies
Dead
Strange
Lying
Death
More quotes by Algernon Charles Swinburne
If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together In sad or singing weather.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Love lies bleeding in the bed whereover Roses lean with smiling mouths or pleading: Earth lies laughing where the sun's dart clove her: Love lies bleeding.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
There grows No herb of help to heal a coward heart.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
While three men hold together, the kingdoms are less by three.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
I that have love and no more Give you but love of you, sweet He that hath more, let him give He that hath wings, let him soar Mine is the heart at your feet Here, that must love you to live.
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
The beast faith lives on its own dung.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
For whom all winds are quiet as the sun,/ All waters as the shore.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Love, till dawn sunder night from day with fire Dividing my delight and my desire.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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
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
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
And the best and the worst of this is That neither is most to blame, If you have forgotten my kisses And I have forgotten your name.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
The loves and hours of the life of a man, They are swift and sad, being born of the sea.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
In friendship's fragrant garden, There are flowers of every hue. Each with its own fair beauty And its gift of joy for you. Friendship's Garden If love were what the rose is, And I were like the leaf, Our lives would grow together In sad or singing weather.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
I am tired of tears and laughter, And men that laugh and weep Of what may come hereafter For men that sow to reap: I am weary of days and hours, Blown buds of barren flowers, Desires and dreams and powers And everything but sleep.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
His speech is a burning fire.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Change lays her hand not upon the truth.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
