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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.
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
Rain
Silent
Smote
Saws
Wrath
Sweet
Tune
Wind
Sovereign
Cold
Autumn
Death
Tunes
Soul
Pass
More quotes by 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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
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
Stately, kindly, lordly friend Condescend Here to sit by me.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean the world has grown grey from thy breath/ We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death
Algernon Charles Swinburne
There lived a singer in France of old By the tideless dolorous midland sea. In a land of sand and rain and gold There shone one woman, and none but she.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.
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
Despair the twin-born of devotion.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Faith speaks when hope is disassembled faith lives when hope dies dead.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Sorrow, on wing through the world for ever, Here and there for awhile would borrow Rest, if rest might haply deliver Sorrow.
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
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
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
To wipe off the froth of falsehood from the foaming lips of inebriated virtue, when fresh from the sexless orgies of morality and reeling from the delirious riot of religion, may doubtless be a charitable office.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
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.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
The sweetest flowers in all the world- A baby's hands.
Algernon Charles Swinburne