Algernon Charles Swinburne Quotes

Villon our sad bad glad mad brother's name.

By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept Remembering thee.

For till the thunder and trumpet be,Soul may divide from body, but not weOne from another

I am that which unloves me and loves; I am stricken, and I am the blow.

Sweet for a little even to fear, and sweet,tO love, to lay down fear at love’s fair feet;tShall not some fiery memory of his breathtLie sweet on lips that touch the lips of death?tYet leave me not; yet, if thou wilt, be free;Love me no more, but love my love of thee.tLove where thou wilt, and live thy life; and I,tOne thing I can, and one love cannot—die.tPass from me; yet thine arms, thine eyes, thine hair,tFeed my desire and deaden my despair.Yet once more ere time change us, ere my cheektWhiten, ere hope be dumb or sorrow speak,tYet once more ere thou hate me, one full kiss;tKeep other hours for others, save me this.tYea, and I will not (if it please thee) weep,Lest thou be sad; I will but sigh, and sleep.tSweet, does death hurt? thou canst not do me wrong:tI shall not lack thee, as I loved thee, long.tHast thou not given me above all that livetJoy, and a little sorrow shalt not give?What even though fairer fingers of strange girlstPass nestling through thy beautiful boy’s curlstAs mine did, or those curled lithe lips of thinetMeet theirs as these, all theirs come after mine;tAnd though I were not, though I be not, best,I have loved and love thee more than all the rest.tO love, O lover, loose or hold me fast,tI had thee first, whoever have thee last;tFairer or not, what need I know, what care?tTo thy fair bud my blossom once seemed fair.Why am I fair at all before thee, whytAt all desired? seeing thou art fair, not I.tI shall be glad of thee, O fairest head,tAlive, alone, without thee, with thee, dead;tI shall remember while the light lives yet,And in the night-time I shall not forget.tThough (as thou wilt) thou leave me ere life leave,tI will not, for thy love I will not, grieve;tNot as they use who love not more than I,tWho love not as I love thee though I die;And though thy lips, once mine, be oftener presttTo many another brow and balmier breast,tAnd sweeter arms, or sweeter to thy mind,tLull thee or lure, more fond thou wilt not find.

Before the beginning of yearsThere came to the making of manTime, with a gift of tears;Grief, with a glass that ran;Pleasure, with pain for leaven;Summer, with flowers that fell;Remembrance, fallen from heaven,And madness risen from hell;Strength without hands to smite;Love that endures for a breath;Night, the shadow of light,And Life, the shadow of death.

For the crown of our life as it closesIs darkness, the fruit there of dust;No thorns go as deep as the rose's,And love is more cruel than lust.Time turns the old days to derision,Our loves into corpses or wives;And marriage and death and divisionMake barren our lives.

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apartFlesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.