A Thought

Blythe bell, that calls to bridal halls,
Tolls deep a darker day;
The very shower that feeds the flower
Weeps also its decay.

Walter Savage Landor

Walter Savage Landor was an English writer, poet, and dramatist. He is best known for his prose work, the 'Imaginary Conversations,' but also wrote numerous poems and plays. Landor had a tempestuous character and often found himself in conflict with authorities and contemporaries. Despite his combative nature, he was highly regarded by other literary figures such as Charles Dickens and Robert Browning. His works reflect his classical education and strong individualism.

Walter Savage Landor

A Ballad Of The Trees And The Master

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

The One White Hair

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

Quotations II

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

For An Epitaph At Fiesole

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

English

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There Falls With Every Wedding Chime

There falls with every wedding chime
A feather from the wing of Time.
You pick it up, and say How fair
To look upon its colors are!
Another drops day after day            
Unheeded; not one word you say.
When bright and dusky are blown past,
Upon the hearse there nods the last.

Walter Savage Landor

Elegiac Stanzas - Addressed To Sir G. H. B. Upon The Death Of His Sister-In-Law

O for a dirge! But why complain?
Ask rather a triumphal strain
When Fermor's race is run;
A garland of immortal boughs
To twine around the Christian's brows,
Whose glorious work is done.

We pay a high and holy debt;
No tears of passionate regret
Shall stain this votive lay;
Ill-worthy, Beaumont! were the grief
That flings itself on wild relief
When Saints have passed away.

Sad doom, at Sorrow's shrine to kneel,
For ever covetous to feel,
And impotent to bear!
Such once was hers, to think and think
On severed love, and only sink
From anguish to despair!

But nature to its inmost part
Faith had refined; and to her heart
A peaceful cradle given:
Calm as the dew-drop's, free to rest
Within a breeze-fanned rose's breas...

William Wordsworth

On Music

Many love music but for musics sake;
Many because her touches can awake
Thoughts that repose within the breast half dead,
And rise to follow where she loves to lead.
What various feelings come from days gone by!
What tears from far-off sources dim the eye!
Few, when light fingers with sweet voices play,
And melodies swell, pause, and melt away,
Mind how at every touch, at every tone,
A spark of life hath glistend and hath gone.

Walter Savage Landor

And The Laughter Of The Young And Gay Was Far Too Glad And Loud.

Hush, hush! my thoughts are resting on a changeless world of bliss;
Oh! come not with the voice of mirth to lure them back to this.
'Tis true, we've much of sadness in our weary sojourn here,
That fades, and leaves no deeper trace than childhood's reckless tear;
But there are woes which scathe the heart till all its bloom is o'er,
A deadly blight we feel but once, that once for evermore.

Oh, then, 'tis sweet on fancy's wing to cleave that bright domain!
The loved and the redeemed are there, why lure me back again?
The cadences of gladness to your hearts may yet be dear;
They have no melody for mine, all, all is desert here.
The sunshine still is bright to you, the moonlight and the flowers;
To me they tell a harrowing tale of dear departed hours.

I would not cu...

Eliza Paul Kirkbride Gurney

The Bell.

Through the calm and silent air
    Floats the tolling funeral bell,
    Swooning over hill and dell,
Heavy laden with despair;
    Mute between each muffled stroke,
    Sad as though a dead voice spoke,
    Out of the dim Past time spoke,
Stands my heart all mute with care.

The Bell is tolling on, and deep,
    Deep and drear into my heart
    All its bitter accents dart.
Peace! sad chime, I will not weep--
    What is there within thy tone,
    That should wring my heart alone,
    Rive it with this endless moan?
Peace! and let past sorrows sleep!

Fling your music on the breeze,
    Mock the sighing of the willows,
    Mock the lapping of the billows,
Mock not human sympathies;
    Slow chime, sad chime, mock me not,
    ...

Walter R. Cassels

Cowslips

With rosy hand a little girl pressd down
A boss of fresh-culld cowslips in a rill:
Often as they sprang up again, a frown
Showd she dislikd resistance to her will:
But when they droopd their heads and shone much less,
She shook them to and fro, and threw them by,
And trippd away. Ye loathe the heaviness
Ye love to cause, my little girls! thought I,
And what has shone for you, by you must die!

Walter Savage Landor