On Living Too Long

Is it not better at an early hour
In its calm cell to rest the weary head,
While birds are singing and while blooms the bower,
Than sit the fire out and go starvd to bed?

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

To Lanthe

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

Dirce

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

Ah what avails the sceptred race,

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

Pleasure! why thus desert the heart

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

English

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Finis

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art:
I warmd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

Walter Savage Landor

Late Leaves

The leaves are falling; so am I;
The few late flowers have moisture in the eye;
So have I too.
Scarcely on any bough is heard
Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird
The whole wood through.

Winter may come: he brings but nigher
His circle (yearly narrowing) to the fire
Where old friends meet.
Let him; now heaven is overcast,
And spring and summer both are past,
And all things sweet.

Walter Savage Landor

On Himself

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife;
Nature I lovd, and next to Nature, Art;
I warmd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

Walter Savage Landor

On His Seventy-Fifth Birthday

I strove with none; for none was worth my strife,
Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of life,
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

Walter Savage Landor

Dying Speech Of An Old Philosopher

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife:
Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks; and I am ready to depart.

Walter Savage Landor

Twenty Years Hence

Twenty years hence my eyes may grow
If not quite dim, yet rather so,
Still yours from others they shall know
Twenty years hence.

Twenty years hence though it may hap
That I be called to take a nap
In a cool cell where thunderclap
Was never heard,

There breathe but o'er my arch of grass
A not too sadly sighed Alas,
And I shall catch, ere you can pass,
That winged word.

Walter Savage Landor