Algernon Charles Swinburne

“ Men think of thee, as on the summer dead,
Gone forth before the snows, before thy day,
With unshod feet, with brows unchapleted.
Couldst thou not wait till age had wound, they say,
Round those wreathed brows his snow-white blossoms? Nay,
Why shouldst thou vex thy soul with this harsh air,
Thy bright-winged soul, once free to take its way?
Nor for men's reverence hadst thou need to wear
The holy flower of grey time-honored hair;
Nor were it fit that aught of thee grew old,
Fair lover all thy days of all things fair. ... ”