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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
Altars
Lies
Dead
Strange
Lying
Death
Self
Slain
Altar
More quotes by Algernon Charles Swinburne
I will go back to the great sweet mother, Mother and lover of men, the sea. I will go down to her, I and no other, Close with her, kiss her and mix her with me.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Marvellous mercies and infinite love.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
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
His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Change lays her hand not upon the truth.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
For whom all winds are quiet as the sun,/ All waters as the shore.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
The delight that consumes the desire, The desire that outruns the delight.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Love, till dawn sunder night from day with fire Dividing my delight and my desire.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Wan February with weeping cheer, Whose cold hand guides the youngling year Down misty roads of mire and rime, Before thy pale and fitful face The shrill wind shifts the clouds apace Through skies the morning scarce may climb. Thine eyes are thick with heavy tears, But lit with hopes that light the year's.
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
In the world of dreams, I have chosen my part. To sleep for a season and hear no word Of true love's truth or of light love's art, Only the song of a secret bird.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Today will die tomorrow.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Forget that I remember And dream that I forget.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
I dore not always touch her, lest the kiss Leave my lips charred. Yea, Lord, a little bliss, Brief, bitter bliss, one hath for a great sin Nathless thou knowest how sweet a thing it is.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
A baby's feet, like sea-shells pink Might tempt, should heaven see meet, An angel's lips to kiss, we think, A baby's feet.
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 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