Algernon Charles Swinburne Quotes - Page 3

Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all.

Life is the lust of a lamp for the light that is dark till the dawn of the day that we die.

Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives.

I will go back to the great sweet mother, Mother and lover of men, the sea. I will go down to her, I and no other, Close with her, kiss her and mix her with me.

Is not Precedent indeed a King of men? A Word from the Psalmist.

I that have love and no more Give you but love of you, sweet; He that hath more, let him give; He that hath wings, let him soar; Mine is the heart at your feet Here, that must love you to live.

Love laid his sleepless head On a thorny rose bed: And his eyes with tears were red, And pale his lips as the dead.

I shall sleep, and move with the moving ships, Change as the winds change, veer in the tide.

At the door of life by the gate of breath, There are worse things waiting for men than death.

For whom all winds are quiet as the sun,/ All waters as the shore.

The highest spiritual quality, the noblest property of mind a man can have, is this of loyalty.

I dore not always touch her, lest the kiss Leave my lips charred. Yea, Lord, a little bliss, Brief, bitter bliss, one hath for a great sin; Nathless thou knowest how sweet a thing it is.

My loss may shine yet goodlier than your gain When Time and God give judgment.

For words divide and rend But silence is most noble till the end.

Forget that I remember And dream that I forget.

There grows No herb of help to heal a coward heart.

The beast faith lives on its own dung.

Fruits fail and love dies and time ranges;Thou art fed with perpetual breath, and alive after infinite changes,And fresh from the kisses of death,Of langours rekindled and rallied, Of barren delights and unclean,Things monstrous and fruitless, a pallidAnd poisonous queen.

The sun is all about the world we see, the breath and strength of every spring.

Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time with a gift of tears, Grief with a glass that ran .

And lo, between the sundawn and the sun His day's work and his night's work are undone: And lo, between the nightfall and the light, He is not, and none knoweth of such an one.

The loves and hours of the life of a man, They are swift and sad, being born of the sea.

Stately, kindly, lordly friend Condescend Here to sit by me.

Sorrow, on wing through the world for ever, Here and there for awhile would borrow Rest, if rest might haply deliver Sorrow.

In fierce March weather White waves break tether, And whirled together At either hand, Like weeds uplifted, The tree-trunks rifted In spars are drifted, Like foam or sand.