Best Famous Walter Savage Landor Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Walter Savage Landor poems. This is a select list of the best famous Walter Savage Landor poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Walter Savage Landor poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Walter Savage Landor poems.

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Poems are below...


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Written by Walter Savage Landor | Create an image from this poem

The Three Roses

 When the buds began to burst,
Long ago, with Rose the First
I was walking; joyous then
Far above all other men,
Till before us up there stood
Britonferry's oaken wood,
Whispering, "Happy as thou art,
Happiness and thou must part.
" Many summers have gone by Since a Second Rose and I (Rose from the same stem) have told This and other tales of old.
She upon her wedding day Carried home my tenderest lay: From her lap I now have heard Gleeful, chirping, Rose the Third.
Not for her this hand of mine Rhyme with nuptial wreath shall twine; Cold and torpid it must lie, Mute the tongue, and closed the eye.
Written by Walter Savage Landor | Create an image from this poem

Autumn

 Whoever has no house now will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone Will sit, read, write long letters through the evening And wander on the boulevards, up and down.
.
.
- from Autumn Day, Rainer Maria Rilke Its stain is everywhere.
The sharpening air of late afternoon is now the colour of tea.
Once-glycerined green leaves burned by a summer sun are brittle and ochre.
Night enters day like a thief.
And children fear that the beautiful daylight has gone.
Whoever has no house now will never have one.
It is the best and the worst time.
Around a fire, everyone laughing, brocaded curtains drawn, nowhere-anywhere-is more safe than here.
The whole world is a cup one could hold in one's hand like a stone warmed by that same summer sun.
But the dead or the near dead are now all knucklebone.
Whoever is alone will stay alone.
Nothing to do.
Nothing to really do.
Toast and tea are nothing.
Kettle boils dry.
Shut the night out or let it in, it is a cat on the wrong side of the door whichever side it is on.
A black thing with its implacable face.
To avoid it you will tell yourself you are something, will sit, read, write long letters through the evening.
Even though there is bounty, a full harvest that sharp sweetness in the tea-stained air is reserved for those who have made a straw fine as a hair to suck it through- fine as a golden hair.
Wearing a smile or a frown God's face is always there.
It is up to you if you take your wintry restlessness into the town and wander on the boulevards, up and down.
Written by Walter Savage Landor | Create an image from this poem

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!
Written by Walter Savage Landor | Create an image from this poem

Dying Speech of an Old Philosopher

 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.
Written by Walter Savage Landor | Create an image from this poem

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.
Written by Walter Savage Landor | Create an image from this poem

On His Seventy-fifth Birthday

 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, and I am ready to depart.
Written by Walter Savage Landor | Create an image from this poem

On His Eightieth Birthday

 To my ninth decade I have tottered on, 
And no soft arm bends now my steps to steady; 
She, who once led me where she would, is gone, 
So when he calls me, Death shall find me ready.
Written by Walter Savage Landor | Create an image from this poem

Late Leaves

 THE leaves are falling; so am I; 
The few late flowers have moisture in the eye; 
 So have I too.
Scarcely on any bough is heard Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird The whole wood through.
Winter may come: he brings but nigher His circle (yearly narrowing) to the fire Where old friends meet.
Let him; now heaven is overcast, And spring and summer both are past, And all things sweet.
Written by Walter Savage Landor | Create an image from this poem

Mother I cannot mind my Wheel

 MOTHER, I cannot mind my wheel; 
 My fingers ache, my lips are dry: 
O, if you felt the pain I feel! 
 But O, 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.
Written by Walter Savage Landor | Create an image from this poem

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.
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