Walter Savage Landor
Walter Savage Landor (1775–1864) was an English poet and prose writer whose "Imaginary Conversations" and lyric poems are marked by classical restraint and epigrammatic…
"The Year's twelve daughters had in turn gone by, Of measured pace tho' varying mien all twelve, Some froward, some sedater, some adorn'd For festiv"
"My hopes retire; my wishes as before Struggle to find their resting-place in vain: The ebbing sea thus beats against the shore; The shore repels it"
"Where art thou gone, light-ankled Youth? With wing at either shoulder, And smile that never left thy mouth Until the Hours grew colder: Then some"
"Remain, ah not in youth alone, Though youth, where you are, long will stay, But when my summer days are gone, And my autumnal haste away. "Can I b"
"Tanagra! think not I forget Thy beautifully-storeyd streets; Be sure my memory bathes yet In clear Thermodon, and yet greets The blythe and libera"
"Tell me not things past all belief; One truth in you I prove; The flame of anger, bright and brief, Sharpens the barb of Love."
"I strove with none; for none was worth my strife, Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art; I warmed both hands before the fire of life, It sinks, a"
"Artemidora! Gods invisible, While thou art lying faint along the couch, Have tied the sandal to thy veined feet, And stand beside thee, ready to c"
""We think that we suffer from ingratitude, while in reality we suffer from self-love." "The writing of the wise are the only riches our posterity ca"
"Alas, how soon the hours are over Counted us out to play the lover! And how much narrower is the stage Allotted us to play the sage! But when we p"
"Do you remember me? or are you proud? Lightly advancing thro her star-trimmd crowd, Ianthe said, and lookd into my eyes. A yes, a yes to both"
"Here, where precipitate Spring with one light bound Into hot Summer's lusty arms expires; And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night, Soft airs,"
"Those who have laid the harp aside And turn'd to idler things, From very restlessness have tried The loose and dusty strings."
"Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear: Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear."