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Best Famous Walter Savage Landor Poems

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by Walter Savage Landor | |

The Chrysolites and Rubies Bacchus Brings

 The chrysolites and rubies Bacchus brings 
To crown the feast where swells the broad-vein'd brow, 
Where maidens blush at what the minstrel sings, 
They who have coveted may covet now.
Bring me, in cool alcove, the grape uncrush'd, The peach of pulpy cheek and down mature, Where every voice (but bird's or child's) is hush'd, And every thought, like the brook nigh, runs pure.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

One Lovely Name

 One lovely name adorns my song, 
And, dwelling in the heart, 
Forever falters at the tongue, 
And trembles to depart.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

I Strove with None

 I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art: I warm'd both hands before the fire of life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

What News

 Here, ever since you went abroad,
If there be change, no change I see,
I only walk our wonted road,
The road is only walkt by me.
Yes; I forgot; a change there is; Was it of that you bade me tell? I catch at times, at times I miss The sight, the tone, I know so well.
Only two months since you stood here! Two shortest months! then tell me why Voices are harsher than they were, And tears are longer ere they dry.

by Walter Savage Landor | |


 I STROVE with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art: I warm'd both hands before the fire of life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

Rose Aylmer

 Ah, what avails the sceptred race!
Ah, what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and sighs I consecrate to thee.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

Ianthe! You are Calld to Cross the Sea

 Ianthe! you are call'd to cross the sea!
A path forbidden me!
Remember, while the Sun his blessing sheds
Upon the mountain-heads,
How often we have watcht him laying down
His brow, and dropt our own
Against each other's, and how faint and short
And sliding the support!
What will succeed it now? Mine is unblest,
Ianthe! nor will rest
But on the very thought that swells with pain.
O bid me hope again! O give me back what Earth, what (without you) Not Heaven itself can do-- One of the golden days that we have past, And let it be my last! Or else the gift would be, however sweet, Fragile and incomplete.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

Death Stands Above Me Whispering Low

 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.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

Who Ever Felt as I?

 Mother, I cannot mind my wheel;
My fingers ache, my lips are dry:
Oh! if you felt the pain I feel!
But oh, who ever felt as I?

No longer could I doubt him true;
All other men may use deceit:
He always said my eyes were blue,
And often swore my lips were sweet.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

Ianthes Question

 ‘Do you remember me? or are you proud?’
Lightly advancing thro’ her star-trimm’d crowd,
Ianthe said, and look’d into my eyes.
‘A yes, a yes to both: for Memory Where you but once have been must ever be, And at your voice Pride from his throne must rise.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

On An Eclipse Of The Moon

 Struggling, and faint, and fainter didst thou wane,
O Moon! and round thee all thy starry train
Came forth to help thee, with half-open eyes,
And trembled every one with still surprise,
That the black Spectre should have dared assail
Their beauteous queen and seize her sacred veil

by Walter Savage Landor | |


 Years, many parti-colour’d years,
Some have crept on, and some have flown
Since first before me fell those tears
I never could see fall alone.
Years, not so many, are to come, Years not so varied, when from you One more will fall: when, carried home, I see it not, nor hear Adieu.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

To Age

 Welcome, old friend! These many years 
Have we lived door by door; 
The fates have laid aside their shears 
Perhaps for some few more.
I was indocile at an age When better boys were taught, But thou at length hast made me sage, If I am sage in aught.
Little I know from other men, Too little they know from me, But thou hast pointed well the pen That writes these lines to thee.
Thanks for expelling Fear and Hope, One vile, the other vain; One's scourge, the other's telescope, I shall not see again.
Rather what lies before my feet My notice shall engage-- He who hath braved Youth's dizzy heat Dreads not the frost of Age.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

Proud Word You Never Spoke

 Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak
Four not exempt from pride some future day.
Resting on one white hand a warm wet cheek, Over my open volume you will say, 'This man loved me'—then rise and trip away.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

To Robert Browning

 There is delight in singing, though none hear
Beside the singer; and there is delight
In praising, though the praiser sits alone
And see the praised far off him, far above.
Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's, Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee, Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale No man hath walked along our roads with step So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue So varied in discourse.
But warmer climes Give brighter plumage, stronger wing; the breeze Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.

by Walter Savage Landor | |


 REMAIN, ah not in youth alone! 
 --Tho' youth, where you are, long will stay-- 
But when my summer days are gone, 
 And my autumnal haste away.
'Can I be always by your side?' No; but the hours you can, you must, Nor rise at Death's approaching stride, Nor go when dust is gone to dust.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

The Evening Star

 Smiles soon abate; the boisterous throes 
Of anger long burst forth; 
Inconstantly the south-wind blows, 
But steadily the north.
Thy star, O Venus! often changes Its radiant seat above, The chilling pole-star never ranges -- 'Tis thus with Hate and Love.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

God Scatters Beauty

 God scatters beauty as he scatters flowers 
O'er the wide earth, and tells us all are ours.
A hundred lights in every temple burn, And at each shrine I bend my knee in turn.

by Walter Savage Landor | |


 Stand close around, ye Stygian set,
With Dirce in one boat conveyed,
Or Charon, seeing, may forget
That he is old and she a shade.

by Walter Savage Landor | |

The Dragon-Fly

 Life (priest and poet say) is but a dream;
I wish no happier one than to be laid
Beneath a cool syringa’s scented shade,
Or wavy willow, by the running stream,
Brimful of moral, where the dragon-fly,
Wanders as careless and content as I.
Thanks for this fancy, insect king, Of purple crest and filmy wing, Who with indifference givest up The water-lily’s golden cup, To come again and overlook What I am writing in my book.
Believe me, most who read the line Will read with hornier eyes than thine; And yet their souls shall live for ever, And thine drop dead into the river! God pardon them, O insect king, Who fancy so unjust a thing!