Algernon Charles Swinburne

(5 April 1837 - 10 April 1909 / London)

Algernon Charles Swinburne Poems

201. Dead Love 1/1/2004
202. Sorrow 12/31/2002
203. Wasted Love 1/1/2004
204. A Clasp Of Hands 12/31/2002
205. Time And Life 1/1/2004
206. A Night-Piece By Millet 1/1/2004
207. Music: An Ode 12/31/2002
208. Prelude - Tristan And Isolde 1/1/2004
209. Four Songs Of Four Seasons 12/31/2002
210. A Flower-Piece By Fantin 1/1/2004
211. Birth And Death 1/1/2004
212. A Ballad Of Burdens 12/31/2002
213. Hymn To Proserpine (After The Proclamation Of The Christian 1/1/2004
214. A Dead Friend 1/1/2004
215. Love And Sleep 12/31/2002
216. A Leave-Taking 12/31/2002
217. A Child's Laughter 12/31/2002
218. The Garden Of Prosperine 1/3/2003
219. A Match 1/3/2003
220. A Baby's Death 1/1/2004
221. A Forsaken Garden 12/31/2002
222. Love Lies Bleeding 1/1/2004
223. A Ballad Of Death 1/3/2003
224. A Ballad Of Dreamland 1/3/2003

Comments about Algernon Charles Swinburne

  • Jamie Mitchell (1/11/2018 11:56:00 AM)

    Didn't Swinburne write a poem about Oacar Wilde? This collection seems incomplete.

    2 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Johnny Ringo (12/26/2013 11:43:00 PM)

    I love reading Swinburne, some of his works really speak to me and I can read them again and again.

    9 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Dianne Ross (1/22/2013 3:01:00 AM)

    No poet writes more exquisitely of love than dear Swinburne. I will always hold him close to my heart. He was devoted to his Queen.

    11 person liked.
    5 person did not like.
Best Poem of Algernon Charles Swinburne

A Ballad Of Death

Kneel down, fair Love, and fill thyself with tears,
Girdle thyself with sighing for a girth
Upon the sides of mirth,
Cover thy lips and eyelids, let thine ears
Be filled with rumour of people sorrowing;
Make thee soft raiment out of woven sighs
Upon the flesh to cleave,
Set pains therein and many a grievous thing,
And many sorrows after each his wise
For armlet and for gorget and for sleeve.

O Love's lute heard about the lands of death,
Left hanged upon the trees that were therein;
O Love and Time and Sin,
Three singing mouths that mourn now ...

Read the full of A Ballad Of Death

A Marching Song

We mix from many lands,
We march for very far;
In hearts and lips and hands
Our staffs and weapons are;
The light we walk in darkens sun and moon and star.

It doth not flame and wane
With years and spheres that roll,
Storm cannot shake nor stain

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