On Lucretia Borgias Hair

Borgia, thou once wert almost too august
And high for adoration; now thou rt dust;
All that remains of thee these plaits unfold,
Calm hair meandering in pellucid gold.

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 Pastoral

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

To Sleep

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

On The Death Of M. DOssoli And His Wife Margaret Fuller

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

Faesulan Idyl

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

English

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On Seeing A Hair Of Lucretia Borgia

Borgia, thou once wert almost too august
And high for adoration; now thou'rt dust.
All that remains of thee these plaits unfold,
Calm hair, meandering in pellucid gold.

Walter Savage Landor

Of Clementina

In Clementinas artless mien
Lucilla asks me what I see,
And are the roses of sixteen
Enough for me?

Lucilla asks, if that be all,
Have I not culld as sweet before:
Ah yes, Lucilla! and their fall
I still deplore.

I now behold another scene,
Where Pleasure beams with Heavens own light,
More pure, more constant, more serene,
And not less bright.

Faith, on whose breast the Loves repose,
Whose chain of flowers no force can sever,
And Modesty who, when she goes,
Is gone for ever.

Walter Savage Landor

Rose Aylmers Hair, Given By Her Sister

Beautiful spoils! borne off from vanquishd death!
Upon my hearts high altar shall ye lie,
Movd but by only one adorers breath,
Retaining youth, rewarding constancy.

Walter Savage Landor

A Woman's Hair. [1]

Oh! little lock of golden hue
In gently waving ringlet curl'd,
By the dear head on which you grew,
I would not lose you for a world.

Not though a thousand more adorn
The polished brow where once you shone,
Like rays which guild a cloudless sky
Beneath Columbia's fervid zone.

George Gordon Byron

Her Hair

The beauty of her hair bewilders me -
Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tide
Swirling about the ears on either side
And storming round the neck tumultuously:
Or like the lights of old antiquity
Through mullioned windows, in cathedrals wide
Spilled moltenly o'er figures deified
In chastest marble, nude of drapery.
And so I love it. Either unconfined;
Or plaited in close braidings manifold;
Or smoothly drawn; or indolently twined
In careless knots whose coilings come unrolled
At any lightest kiss; or by the wind
Whipped out in flossy ravellings of gold.

James Whitcomb Riley

Farewell To Italy

I Leave thee, beauteous Italy! no more
From the high terraces, at even-tide,
To look supine into thy depths of sky,
Thy golden moon between the cliff and me,
Or thy dark spires of fretted cypresses            
Bordering the channel of the milky way.
Fiesole and Valdarno must be dreams
Hereafter, and my own lost Affrico
Murmur to me but in the poets song.
I did believe (what have I not believd?),            
Weary with age, but unoppressd by pain,
To close in thy soft clime my quiet day
And rest my bones in the mimosas shade.
Hope! Hope! few ever cherishd thee so little;
Few are the heads thou hast so rarely raisd;            
But thou didst promise this, and all was well.
For we are fond of thinking where to lie
When every pulse hath ceasd, when th...

Walter Savage Landor

On Lucretia Borgias Hair

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On Lucretia Borgias Hair