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.

January 30, 1775

September 17, 1864

English

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Death Undreaded

Death stands above me, whispering low
I know not what into my ear:
Of his strange language all I know
Is, there is not a word of fear.

Walter Savage Landor

Defiance

Catch her and hold her if you can,
See, she defies you with her fan,
Shuts, opens, and then holds it spread
In threatening guise over your head.
Ah! why did you not start before
She reached the porch and closed the door?
Simpleton! Will you never learn
That girls and time will not return;
Of each you should have made the most;
Once gone, they are forever lost.
In vain your knuckles knock your brow,
In vain will you remember how
Like a slim brook the gamesome maid
Sparkled, and ran into the shade.

Walter Savage Landor

Dirce

Stand close around, ye Stygian set,
With Dirce in one boat conveyed,
Or Charon, seeing, may forget
That he is old and she a shade.

Walter Savage Landor

Do You Remember Me? Or Are You Proud?

"Do you remember me? or are you proud?"
Lightly advancing thro' her star-trimm'd crowd,
Ianthe said, and lookt into my eyes,
"A yes, a yes, to both: for Memory
Where you but once have been must ever be,
And at your voice Pride from his throne must rise."

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

Faesulan Idyl

Here, where precipitate Spring with one light bound
Into hot Summer's lusty arms expires;
And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night,
Soft airs, that want the lute to play with them,
And softer sighs, that know not what they want;
Under a wall, beneath an orange-tree
Whose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier ones
Of sights in Fiesole right up above,
While I was gazing a few paces off
At what they seemed to show me with their nods,
Their frequent whispers and their pointing shoots,
A gentle maid came down the garden-steps
And gathered the pure treasure in her lap.
I heard the branches rustle, and stept forth
To drive the ox away, or mule, or goat,
(Such I believed it must be); for sweet scents
Are the swift vehicles of still sweeter thoughts,
And nurs...

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

Fiesole Idyl

Here, where precipitate Spring, with one light bound
Into hot Summer's lusty arms, expires,
And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night,
Soft airs that want the lute to play with 'em,
And softer sighs that know not what they want,
Aside a wall, beneath an orange-tree,
Whose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier ones
Of sights in Fiesole right up above,
While I was gazing a few paces off
At what they seem'd to show me with their nods,
Their frequent whispers and their pointing shoots,
A gentle maid came down the garden-steps
And gathered the pure treasure in her lap.
I heard the branches rustle, and stept forth
To drive the ox away, or mule, or goat,
Such I believed it must be. How could I
Let beast o'erpower them? When hath wind or rain
Borne hard upon ...

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

For An Epitaph At Fiesole

Lo! where the four mimosas blend their shade
In calm repose at last is Landor laid;
For ere he slept he saw them planted here
By her his soul had ever held most dear,
And he had livd enough when he had dried her tear.

Walter Savage Landor

From "Myrtis"

Friends, whom she lookd at blandly from her couch
And her white wrist above it, gem-bedewd,
Were arguing with Pentheusa: she had heard
Report of Creons death, whom years before
She listend to, well-pleasd; and sighs arose;            
For sighs full often fondle with reproofs
And will be fondled by them. When I came
After the rest to visit her, she said,
"Myrtis! how kind! Who better knows than thou
The pangs of love? and my first love was he!"            
Tell me (if ever, Eros! are reveald
Thy secrets to the earth) have they been true
To any love who speak about the first?
What! shall these holier lights, like twinkling stars
In the few hours assignd them, change their place,            
And, when comes ampler splendor, disappear?
Idler I am, and pard...

Walter Savage Landor

Fsulan Idyl

Here, where precipitate Spring with one light bound
Into hot Summer's lusty arms expires;
And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night,
Soft airs, that want the lute to play with them,
And softer sighs, that know not what they want;
Under a wall, beneath an orange-tree
Whose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier ones
Of sights in Fiesole right up above,
While I was gazing a few paces off
At what they seemed to show me with their nods,
Their frequent whispers and their pointing shoots,
A gentle maid came down the garden-steps
And gathered the pure treasure in her lap.
I heard the branches rustle, and stept forth
To drive the ox away, or mule, or goat,
(Such I believed it must be); for sweet scents
Are the swift vehicles of still sweeter thoughts,
And nurs...

Walter Savage Landor

Gifts Returned

"You must give back," her mother said,
To a poor sobbing little maid,
"All the young man has given you,
Hard as it now may seem to do."
"'Tis done already, mother dear!"
Said the sweet girl, "So never fear."
        Mother. Are you quite certain? Come, recount
(There was not much) the whole amount.
    Girl. The locket; the kid gloves.
    Mother. Go on.
    Girl. Of the kid gloves I found but one.
    Mother. Never mind that. What else? Proceed.
You gave back all his trash?
    Girl. Indeed.
    Mother. And was there nothing you would save?
    Girl. Everything I could give I gave.
    Mother. To the last tittle?
    Girl. Even to that.
    Mother. Freely?
    Girl<...

Walter Savage Landor

God Scatters Beauty
God scatters beauty as he scatters flowers
Oer the wide earth, and tells us all are ours.
A hundred lights in every temple burn,
And at each shrine I bend my knee in turn.
Walter Savage Landor

Heartsease
There is a flower I wish to wear,
But not until first worn by you,
Heartsease of all earths flowers most rare;
Bring it; and bring enough for two.
Walter Savage Landor

Here, ever since you went abroad,
Here, ever since you went abroad,
If there be change, no change I see,
I only walk our wonted road,
The road is only walkt by me.

Yes; I forgot; a change there is;
Was it of _that_ you bade me tell?
I catch at times, at times I miss
The sight, the tone, I know so well.

Only two months since you stood here!
Two shortest months! then tell me why
Voices are harsher than they were,
And tears are longer ere they dry.
Walter Savage Landor

How To Read Me
To turn my volumes oer nor find
(Sweet unsuspicious friend!)
Some vestige of an erring mind
To chide or discommend,

Believe that all were lovd like you
With love from blame exempt,
Believe that all my griefs were true
And all my joys but dreamt.
Walter Savage Landor

I Entreat You, Alfred Tennyson
I entreat you, Alfred Tennyson,
Come and share my haunch of venison.
I have too a bin of claret,
Good, but better when you share it.
Tho tis only a small bin,
Theres a stock of it within.
And as sure as Im a rhymer,
Half a butt of Rudeheimer.
Come; among the sons of men is one
Welcomer than Alfred Tennyson?
Walter Savage Landor

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