Soon, O Lanthe! Life Is O'er

Soon, O Ianthe! life is o'er,
And sooner beauty's heavenly smile:
Grant only (and I ask no more),
Let love remain that little while.

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

Remain!

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

Wrinkles

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

To Robert Browning

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

The Lover

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

English

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Ianthe

From you, Ianthe, little troubles pass
Like little ripples down a sunny river;
Your pleasures spring like daisies in the grass,
Cut down, and up again as blithe as ever.

Walter Savage Landor

In After Time

No, my own love of other years!
No, it must never be.
Much rests with you that yet endears,
Alas! but what with me?
Could those bright years oer me revolve
So gay, oer you so fair,
The pearl of life we would dissolve
And each the cup might share.
You show that truth can neer decay,
Whatever fate befalls;
I, that the myrtle and the bay
Shoot fresh on ruind walls.

Walter Savage Landor

The Lover

Now thou art gone, tho' not gone far,
It seems that there are worlds between us;
Shine here again, thou wandering star!
Earth's planet! and return with Venus.

At times thou broughtest me thy light
When restless sleep had gone away;
At other times more blessed night
Stole over, and prolonged thy stay.

Walter Savage Landor

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

Mild Is The Parting Year

Mild is the parting year, and sweet
The odour of the falling spray;
Life passes on more rudely fleet,
And balmless is its closing day.

I wait its close, I court its gloom,
But mourn that never must there fall
Or on my breast or on my tomb
The tear that would have soothed it all.

Walter Savage Landor

Ianthe! You Are Call'd To Cross The Sea

Ianthe! you are call'd to cross the sea!
A path forbidden me!
Remember, while the Sun his blessing sheds
Upon the mountain-heads,
How often we have watcht him laying down
His brow, and dropt our own
Against each other's, and how faint and short
And sliding the support!
What will succeed it now? Mine is unblest,
Ianthe! nor will rest
But on the very thought that swells with pain.
O bid me hope again!
O give me back what Earth, what (without you)
Not Heaven itself can do,
One of the golden days that we have past,
And let it be my last!
Or else the gift would be, however sweet,
Fragile and incomplete.

Walter Savage Landor