Algernon Charles Swinburne

“ Let life burn down, and dream it is not death.
I would the sea had hidden us, the fire
(Wilt thou fear that, and fear not my desire?)
Severed the bones that bleach, the flesh that cleaves,
And let our sifted ashes drop like leaves.
I feel thy blood against my blood: my pain
Pains thee, and lips bruise lips, and vein stings vein.
Let fruit be crushed on fruit, let flower on flower,
Breast kindle breast, and either burn one hour.
Why wilt thou follow lesser loves? are thine
Too weak to bear these hands and lips of mine? ”

“ Twain halves of a perfect heart, made fast
Soul to soul while the years fell past;
Had you loved me once, as you have not loved;
⁠Had the chance been with us that has not been.
I have put my days and dreams out of mind,
⁠Days that are over, dreams that are done.
Though we seek life through, we shall surely find
⁠There is none of them clear to us now, not one.
But clear are these things; the grass and the sand,
Where, sure as the eyes reach, ever at hand,
With lips wide open and face burnt blind,
⁠The strong sea-daisies feast on the sun.
The low downs lean to the sea ”

“ Let her lips not again lay hold on my soul, nor her poisonous kisses,
⁠To consume it alive and divide from thy bosom, Our Lady of Sleep.
Ah daughter of sunset and slumber, if now it return into prison,
⁠Who shall redeem it anew? but we, if thou wilt, let us fly;
Let us take to us, now that the white skies thrill with a moon unarisen,
⁠Swift horses of fear or of love, take flight and depart and not die.
They are swifter than dreams, they are stronger than death; there is none that hath ridden,
⁠None that shall ride in the dim strange ways of his life as we ride ”

“ Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from thy breath;
We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death.
Laurel is green for a season, and love is sweet for a day;
But love grows bitter with treason, and laurel outlives not May.
Sleep, shall we sleep after all? for the world is not sweet in the end;
For the old faiths loosen and fall, the new years ruin and rend.
Fate is a sea without shore, and the soul is a rock that abides;
But her ears are vexed with the roar and her face with the foam of the tides. ”

“ And consumed of the storm as the sacrifice loved of their
God is consumed with fire,
And devoured of the darkness as men that are slain in
the fires of his love are devoured,
And deflowered of their lives by the storms, as by priests
is the spirit of life deflowered.
For the wind, of its godlike mercy, relents not, and
hounds them ahead to the north,
With English hunters at heel, till now is the herd of them
past the Forth,
All huddled and hurtled seaward; and now need none
wage war upon these,
Nor huntsmen follow the quarry whose fall is the pastime
sought of the seas. ”

“ There is not room under all the sky
⁠For me that know not of worst or best,
Dream or desire of the days before,
Sweet things or bitterness, any more.
Love will not come to me now though I die,
⁠As love came close to you, breast to breast.
I shall never be friends again with roses;
⁠I shall loathe sweet tunes, where a note grown strong
Relents and recoils, and climbs and closes,
⁠As a wave of the sea turned back by song.
There are sounds where the soul's delight takes fire,
Face to face with its own desire;
A delight that rebels, a desire that reposes ”

“ In the change of years, in the coil of things,
⁠In the clamour and rumour of life to be,
We, drinking love at the furthest springs,
⁠Covered with love as a covering tree,
We had grown as gods, as the gods above,
Filled from the heart to the lips with love,
Held fast in his hands, clothed warm with his wings,
⁠O love, my love, had you loved but me!
We had stood as the sure stars stand, and moved
⁠As the moon moves, loving the world; and seen
Grief collapse as a thing disproved,
⁠Death consume as a thing unclean. ”

“ Saw Love, as burning flame from crown to feet,
Imperishable, upon her storied seat;
Clear eyelids lifted toward the north and south,
A mind of many colours, and a mouth
Of many tunes and kisses; and she bowed,
With all her subtle face laughing aloud,
Bowed down upon me, saying, "Who doth thee wrong,
Sappho?" but thou—thy body is the song,
Thy mouth the music; thou art more than I,
Though my voice die not till the whole world die;
Though men that hear it madden; though love weep,
Though nature change, though shame be charmed to sleep. ”

“ Decameron, x. 7.
There is no woman living that draws breath
So sad as I, though all things sadden her.
There is not one upon life's weariest way
Who is weary as I am weary of all but death.
Toward whom I look as looks the sunflower
All day with all his whole soul toward the sun;
While in the sun's sight I make moan all day,
And all night on my sleepless maiden bed
Weep and call out on death, O Love, and thee,
That thou or he would take me to the dead,
And know not what thing evil I have done
That life should lay such heavy hand on me. ”

“ Was lighted, and thine hungering heart he fed
⁠Who feeds our hearts with fame.
XIV.
Therefore he too now at thy soul's sunsetting,
⁠God of all suns and songs, he too bends down
⁠To mix his laurel with thy cypress crown,
And save thy dust from blame and from forgetting.
⁠Therefore he too, seeing all thou wert and art,
⁠Compassionate, with sad and sacred heart,
Mourns thee of many his children the last dead,
⁠And hallows with strange tears and alien sighs
⁠Thine unmelodious mouth and sunless eyes,
And over thine irrevocable head
⁠Sheds light from the under skies. ”

“ Yet the soul woke not, sleeping by the way,
⁠Watched as a nursling of the large eyed night,
And sought no strength nor knowledge of the day,
⁠Nor closer touch conclusive of delight,
Nor mightier joy nor truer than dreamers may,
⁠Nor more of song than they, nor more of light.
For who sleeps once and sees the secret light
⁠Whereby sleep shows the soul a fairer way
Between the rise and rest of day and night,
⁠Shall care no more to fare as all men may,
But he his place of pain or of delight,
⁠There shall he dwell, beholding night as day. ”

“ For the wrath and the joy that fulfil him are mightier
than man's, whom he slays and spoils.
And vainly, with heart divided in sunder, and labour of
wavering will,
The lord of their host takes counsel with hope if haply
their star shine still,
If haply some light be left them of chance to renew and
redeem the fray;
But the will of the black south-wester is lord of the
councils of war to-day.
One only spirit it quells not, a splendour undarkened of
chance or time;
Be the praise of his foes with Oquendo for ever, a name
as a star sublime. ”

“ Nay, is there help in heaven? it may be
All things and lords of things shall cease.
The stooped urn, filling, dips and flashes;
The bronzèd brims are deep in ashes;
The pale old lips of death are fed.
Shall this dust gather flesh hereafter?
Shall one shed tears or fall to laughter,
At sight of all these poor old dead?
Nay, as thou wilt; these know not of it;
Thine eyes' strong weeping shall not profit,
Thy laughter shall not give thee ease;
Cry aloud, spare not, cease not crying,
Sigh, till thou cleave thy sides with sighing,
Thou shalt not raise up one of these. ”

“ Come back to redeem and release me from love that recalls and represses,
⁠That cleaves to my flesh as a flame, till the serpent has eaten his fill;
From the bitter delights of the dark, and the feverish, the furtive caresses
⁠That murder the youth in a man or ever his heart have its will.
Thy lips cannot laugh and thine eyes cannot weep; thou art pale as a rose is,
⁠Paler and sweeter than leaves that cover the blush of the bud;
And the heart of the flower is compassion, and pity the core it encloses,
⁠Pity, not love, that is born of the breath and decays with the blood. ”

“ But like a kiss it curled his lip, and heat
Fluttered his eyelids; so each night I blew
The hot ash red to purge him to full god.
Ill is it when fear hungers in the soul
For painful food, and chokes thereon, being fed;
And ill slant eyes interpret the straight sun,
But in their scope its white is wried to black:
By the queen Metaneira mean I this;
For with sick wrath upon her lips, and heart,
Narrowing with fear the spleenful passages,
She thought to thread this web’s fine ravel out,
Nor leave her shuttle split in combing it ”

“ Fell through time’s hour-glass first, a seed
⁠Of life; and out of many lands
⁠Have we stretched hands.
When have they heard us? who hath known
⁠Their faces, climbed unto their feet,
Felt them and found them? Laugh or groan,
⁠Doth heaven remurmur and repeat
⁠Sad sounds or sweet?
Do the stars answer? in the night
⁠Have ye found comfort? or by day
Have ye seen gods? What hope, what light,
⁠Falls from the farthest starriest way
⁠On you that pray?
Are the skies wet because we weep,
⁠Or fair because of any mirth?
Cry out; they are gods; perchance they sleep ”

“ With gold cloth like fire burning he was clad.
But for the fair green basket that he had,
It was filled up with heavy white and red;
Great roses stained still where the first rose bled,
Burning at heart for shame their heart withholds:
And the sad colour of strong marigolds
That have the sun to kiss their lips for love;
The flower that Venus' hair is woven of,
The colour of fair apples in the sun,
Late peaches gathered when the heat was done
And the slain air got breath; and after these
The fair faint-headed poppies drunk with ease,
And heaviness of hollow lilies red. ”

“ Foes in union of strange communion may rise against
thee from far and near:
Sloth and greed on thy strength may feed as cankers
waxing from year to year.
Yet, though treason and fierce unreason should league
and lie and defame and smite,
We that know thee, how far below thee the hatred burns
of the sons of night,
We that love thee, behold above thee the witness written
of life in light.
Life that shines from thee shows forth signs that none
may read not but eyeless foes:
Hate, born blind, in his abject mind grows hopeful now
but as madness grows ”

“ And Love beholding knew not for the same
The shape that led him, nor in face nor name,
For he was bright and great of thews and fair,
And in Love's eyes he was not Death, but Fame.
Not that grey ghost whose life is empty and bare
And his limbs moulded out of mortal air,
A cloud of change that shifts into a shower
And dies and leaves no light for time to wear:
But a god clothed with his own joy and power,
A god re-risen out of his mortal hour
Immortal, king and lord of time and space,
With eyes that look on them as from a tower. ”

“ Except these kisses of my lips on thine
Brand them with immortality; but me—
Men shall not see bright fire nor hear the sea,
Nor mix their hearts with music, nor behold
Cast forth of heaven, with feet of awful gold
And plumeless wings that make the bright air blind,
Lightning, with thunder for a hound behind
Hunting through fields unfurrowed and unsown,
But in the light and laughter, in the moan
And music, and in grasp of lip and hand
And shudder of water that makes felt on land
The immeasurable tremor of all the sea,
Memories shall mix and metaphors of me. ”

“ Lady, this speech and majesty are twain;
Pure shame is of one counsel with the gods.
HIPPOLYTUS.
Man is as beast when shame stands off from him.
PHÆDRA
Man, what have I to do with shame or thee?
I am not of one counsel with the gods.
I am their kin, I have strange blood in me,
I am not of their likeness nor of thine:
My veins are mixed, and therefore am I mad,
Yea therefore chafe and turn on mine own flesh,
Half of a woman made with half a god.
But thou wast hewn out of an iron womb
And fed with molten mother-snow for milk.
A sword was nurse of thine ”

“ Hast thou seen time, who hast seen so many things?
⁠Are not the years more wise,
⁠More sad than keenest eyes,
The years with soundless feet and sounding wings?
⁠Passing we hear them not, but past
The clamour of them thrills us, and their blast.
⁠Thou art chief of us, and lord;
⁠Thy song is as a sword
Keen-edged and scented in the blade from flowers;
⁠Thou art lord and king; but we
⁠Lift younger eyes, and see
Less of high hope, less light on wandering hours;
⁠Hours that have borne men down so long,
Seen the right fail, and watched uplift the wrong. ”

“ Why let fall from thy hand love's that were thine, roses
that loved thee so?
Large red lilies of love, sceptral and tall, lovely for eyes
to see;
Thornless blossom of love, full of the sun, fruits that were
reared for thee.
Now death's poppies alone circle thy hair, girdle thy
breasts as white;
Bloodless blossoms of death, leaves that have sprung
never against the light.
Nay then, sleep if thou wilt; love is content; what
should he do to weep?
Sweet was love to thee once; now in thine eyes sweeter
than love is sleep. ”

“ That for the sun's love makes its bosom wide
⁠At sunrise, and with all its woods and flowers
Takes in the morning to its heart of pride!
Thou hast a word of that one land of ours,
And of the fair town called of the fair towers,
⁠A word for me of my San Gimignan,
A word of April's greenest-girdled hours.
Of the old breached walls whereon the wallflowers ran
Called of Saint Fina, breachless now of man,
⁠Though time with soft feet break them stone by stone,
Who breaks down hour by hour his own reign's span. ”

“ And my soul shall burn for his soul, and atone.
"'For, Lord, thou knowest, O God most wise,
How gracious on earth were his deeds towards me.
Shall this be a small thing in thine eyes,
That is greater in mine than the whole great sea?'
"I have loved this woman my whole life long,
And even for love's sake when have I said
'I love you'? when have I done you wrong,
Living? but now I shall have you dead. ”

“ For the youngest were born of boy's pastime,
⁠The eldest are young.
Is there shelter while life in them lingers,
⁠Is there hearing for songs that recede,
Tunes touched from a harp with man's fingers
⁠Or blown with boy's mouth in a reed?
Is there place in the land of your labour,
⁠Is there room in your world of delight,
Where change has not sorrow for neighbour
⁠And day has not night?
In their wings though the sea-wind yet quivers,
⁠Will you spare not a space for them there
Made green with the running of rivers
⁠And gracious with temperate air ”

“ Dumb, but love can read the radiant eyes that woke it,
⁠Blue as June's mid heaven is blue.
How may men find refuge, how should hearts be shielded,
From the weapons thus by little children wielded,
⁠When they lift such eyes as light this lustrous face—
Eyes that woke love sleeping unawares, and yielded
⁠Love for love, a gift of grace,
Grace beyond man's merit, love that laughs, forgiving
⁠Even the sin of being no more a child, nor worth
Trust and love that lavish gifts above man's giving,
Touch or glance of eyes and lips the sweetest living,
⁠Fair as heaven and kind as earth? ”

“ Lost Love went weeping half a winter's day.
And the armed wind that smote him seemed to say,
How shall the dew live when the dawn is fled,
Or wherefore should the Mayflower outlast May?
Then Death took Love by the right hand and said,
Smiling: Come now and look upon thy dead.
But Love cast down the glories of his eyes,
And bowed down like a flower his flowerless head.
And Death spake, saying: What ails thee in such wise,
Being god, to shut thy sight up from the skies?
If thou canst see not, hast thou ears to hear? ”