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
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
What News
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;
Mother, I cannot mind my Wheel
MOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel; My fingers ache, my lips are dry: O, if you felt the pain I feel! But O, who ever felt as I? No longer could I doubt him
You smiled, you spoke, and I believed
You smiled, you spoke, and I believed, By every word and smile deceived. Another man would hope no more; Nor hope I what I hoped before: But let not this last wish be vain;
To Age
Welcome, old friend! These many years Have we lived door by door; The fates have laid aside their shears Perhaps for some few more. I was indocile at an age When better boys were
Autumn
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
The Chrysolites and Rubies Bacchus Brings
The chrysolites and rubies Bacchus brings To crown the feast where swells the broad-vein’d brow, Where maidens blush at what the minstrel sings, They who have coveted may covet now. Bring me, in cool
Acon and Rhodope
The Year’s twelve daughters had in turn gone by, Of measured pace tho’ varying mien all twelve, Some froward, some sedater, some adorn’d For festival, some reckless of attire. The snow had left the
God Scatters Beauty
God scatters beauty as he scatters flowers O’er 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.
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.
Who Ever Felt as I?
Mother, I cannot mind my wheel; My fingers ache, my lips are dry: Oh! if you felt the pain I feel! But oh, who ever felt as I? No longer could I doubt him
Fжsulan 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,
To Robert Browning
There is delight in singing, though none hear Beside the singer; and there is delight In praising, though the praiser sits alone And see the praised far off him, far above. Shakespeare is not
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