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

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

Twenty Years Hence

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

Rose Aylmers Hair, Given By Her Sister

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

Time To Be Wise

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

Autumn

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

English

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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

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

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

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

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

To A Lock Of Hair

Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
As in that well-rememberd night
When first thy mystic braid was wove,
And first my Agnes whisperd love.

Since then how often hast thou prest
The torrid zone of this wild breast,
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell
With the first sin that peopled hell;
A breast whose bloods a troubled ocean,
Each throb the earthquakes wild commotion!
O if such clime thou canst endure
Yet keep thy hue unstaind and pure,
What conquest oer each erring thought
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought!
I had not wanderd far and wide
With such an angel for my guide;
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me
If she had lived and lived to love me.

Not then this worlds wild joys had been
To me one savage hun...

Walter Scott