Walter Savage Landor Poems

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.
...

WE are what suns and winds and waters make us;
The mountains are our sponsors, and the rills
Fashion and win their nursling with their smiles.
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THE MOTHER of the Muses, we are taught,
Is Memory: she has left me; they remain,
And shake my shoulder, urging me to sing
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Against the groaning mast I stand,
The Atlantic surges swell,
To bear me from my native land
And Zoë's wild farewell.
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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,
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Along this coast I led the vacant Hours
To the lone sunshine on the uneven strand,
And nipt the stubborn grass and juicier flowers
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Sophocles: Thou goest then, and leavest none behind Worthy to rival thee!
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With much ado you fail to tell
The requisites for writing well;
But, what bad writing is, you quite
Have proved by every line you write.
...