There was a poor poet named Clough, Whom his friends all united to puff, But the public, though dull, Had not such a skull As belonged to believers in Clough. — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
The tadpole poet will never grow into anything bigger than a frog; not though in that stage of development he should puff and blow himself till he bursts with windy adulation at the heels of the laureled ox. — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
I shall sleep, and move with the moving ships, Change as the winds change, veer in the tide. — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
She knows not loves that kissed her She knows not where. Art thou the ghost, my sister, White sister there, Am I the ghost,… — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
A little soul scarce fledged for earth Takes wing with heaven again for goal, Even while we hailed as fresh from birth A little… — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
While three men hold together, the kingdoms are less by three. — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
Body and spirit are twins: God only knows which is which. — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
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… — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
“As the dawn loves the sunlight that must cease Ere dawn again may rise and pass in peace; Must die that she being dead… — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
Sorrow, on wing through the world for ever, Here and there for awhile would borrow Rest, if rest might haply deliver Sorrow. — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
“Love, that is first and last of all things made, The light that has the living world for shade, The spirit that for temporal… — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep. — Algernon Charles Swinburne Copy Share Image
