“Here now in his triumph where all things falter, Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.”
“Here now in his triumph where all things falter, Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.”
Algernon Charles Swinburne
“Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives; And marriage and death and division Make barren our lives.”
Algernon Charles Swinburne“From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may be That no life lives for ever; That dead men rise up never; That even the weariest river Winds somewhere safe to sea.”
Algernon Charles Swinburne“By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept Remembering thee.”
Algernon Charles Swinburne“I am that which unloves me and loves; I am stricken, and I am the blow.”
Algernon Charles Swinburne“Here now in his triumph where all things falter, Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread,As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.”
Algernon Charles Swinburne“But now, you are twain, you are cloven apartFlesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.”
Algernon Charles Swinburne“For till the thunder and trumpet be,Soul may divide from body, but not weOne from another”
Algernon Charles Swinburne, Laus Veneris“From too much love of livingFrom hope and fear set free,We thank with brief thanksgivingWhatever gods may beThat no life lives for ever;That dead men rise up never;That even the weariest riverWinds somewhere safe to sea.Then star nor sun shall waken,Nor any change of light:Nor sound of waters shaken,Nor any sound or sight:Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,Nor days nor things diurnal;Only the sleep eternalIn an eternal night.”
Algernon Charles Swinburne, The Garden of ProserpineAll in One Creative & Marketing Platform to tell stories at scale
