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The tadpole poet will never grow into anything bigger than a frog not though in that stage of development he should puff and blow himself till he bursts with windy adulation at the heels of the laureled ox.
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
Development
Frog
Grow
Puff
Stage
Frogs
Grows
Heels
Tadpole
Though
Till
Tadpoles
Anything
Blow
Adulation
Never
Bigger
Windy
Poet
Bursts
More quotes by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
When I hear that a personal friend has fallen into matrimonial courses, I feel the same sorrow as if I had heard of his lapsing into theism — a holy sorrow, unmixed with anger.
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
The sweetest flowers in all the world- A baby's hands.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Who knows but on their sleep may rise Such light as never heaven let through To lighten earth from Paradise?
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
No blast of air or fire of sun Puts out the light whereby we run With girdled loins our lamplit race, And each from each takes heart of grace And spirit till his turn be done.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
In hawthorn-time the heart grows light.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Change lays her hand not upon the truth.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins And time remembered isgrief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
We, drinking love at the furthest springs, Covered with love as a covering tree, We had grown as gods, as the gods above, Filled from the heart to the lips with love, Held fast in his hands, clothed warm with his wings, O love, my love, had you loved but 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
A little soul scarce fledged for earth Takes wing with heaven again for goal, Even while we hailed as fresh from birth A little soul.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Faith speaks when hope is disassembled faith lives when hope dies dead.
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
As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
There grows No herb of help to heal a coward heart.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Change lays not her hand upon truth.
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
