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

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

Soon, O Lanthe! Life Is O'er

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

Acon And Rhodope

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

The Death Of Artemidora

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

The Poet Who Sleeps

Walter Savage Landor, Simple Poetry

English

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To Youth

Where art thou gone, light-ankled Youth?
With wing at either shoulder,
And smile that never left thy mouth
Until the Hours grew colder:

Then somewhat seemd to whisper near
That thou and I must part;
I doubted it; I felt no fear,
No weight upon the heart.

If aught befell it, Love was by
And rolld it off again;
So, if there ever was a sigh,
T was not a sigh of pain.

I may not call thee back; but thou
Returnest when the hand
Of gentle Sleep waves oer my brow
His poppy-crested wand;

Then smiling eyes bend over mine,
Then lips once pressd invite;
But sleep hath given a silent sign,
And both, alas! take flight.

Walter Savage Landor

To The Planet Venus

What strong allurement draws, what spirit guides,
Thee, Vesper! brightening still, as if the nearer
Thou com'st to man's abode the spot grew dearer
Night after night? True is it Nature hides
Her treasures less and less. Man now presides
In power, where once he trembled in his weakness;
Science advances with gigantic strides;
But are we aught enriched in love and meekness?
Aught dost thou see, bright Star! of pure and wise
More than in humbler times graced human story;
That makes our hearts more apt to sympathise
With heaven, our souls more fit for future glory,
When earth shall vanish from our closing eyes,
Ere we lie down in our last dormitory?

William Wordsworth

The Evening Star

Smiles soon abate; the boisterous throes
Of anger long burst forth;
Inconstantly the south-wind blows,
But steadily the north.

Thy star, O Venus! often changes
Its radiant seat above,
The chilling pole-star never ranges,
'Tis thus with Hate and Love.

Walter Savage Landor

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

In Memory of Walter Savage Landor

Back to the flower-town, side by side,
The bright months bring,
New-born, the bridegroom and the bride,
Freedom and spring.

The sweet land laughs from sea to sea,
Filled full of sun;
All things come back to her, being free;
All things but one.

In many a tender wheaten plot
Flowers that were dead
Live, and old suns revive; but not
That holier head.

By this white wandering waste of sea,
Far north, I hear
One face shall never turn to me
As once this year:

Shall never smile and turn and rest
On mine as there,
Nor one most sacred hand be prest
Upon my hair.

I came as one whose thoughts half linger,
Half run before;
The youngest to the oldest singer
That England bore.

I found him whom I shal...

Algernon Charles Swinburne

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