Algernon Charles Swinburne
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Algernon Charles Swinburnewas an English poet, playwright, novelist, and critic. He wrote several novels and collections of poetry such as Poems and Ballads, and contributed to the famous Eleventh Edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica. A controversial figure at the time, Swinburne was a sado-masochist and alcoholic and was obsessed with the Middle Ages and lesbianism...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth5 April 1837
friendship
Stately, kindly, lordly friend Condescend Here to sit by me.
friendship skulls puff
There was a poor poet named Clough, Whom his friends all united to puff, But the public, though dull, Had not such a skull As belonged to believers in Clough.
baby angel kissing
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.
dream iron blood
Not with dreams, but with blood and with iron, Shall a nation be moulded at last.
broken way remember
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.
morning cheer eye
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.
night light one-day
And lo, between the sundawn and the sun His day's work and his night's work are undone: And lo, between the nightfall and the light, He is not, and none knoweth of such an one.
beauty clouds rose
Though one were fair as roses His beauty clouds and closes.
dream remember forget
Forget that I remember And dream that I forget.
sweet kissing littles
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.
christianity pale
Thou has conquered, O pale Galilean.
love-is lust
Love is more cruel than lust.
time spring rain
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.
artist essence dumb
There is no such thing as a dumb poet or a handless painter. The essence of an artist is that he should be articulate.