Algernon Charles Swinburne

(5 April 1837 - 10 April 1909 / London)

Algernon Charles Swinburne Poems

121. Recollections 1/1/2004
122. Mater Triumphalis 1/1/2004
123. Three Faces 1/1/2004
124. Not A Child 1/1/2004
125. A Child's Battles 4/12/2010
126. Stage Love 4/12/2010
127. A New Year's Message To Joseph Mazzini 1/1/2004
128. Had I Wist 1/1/2004
129. A Dialogue 12/31/2002
130. Epilogue 1/1/2004
131. The Higher Pantheism In A Nutshell 1/3/2003
132. A Dialog 1/1/2004
133. A Lamentation 4/12/2010
134. Monotones 1/1/2004
135. A Litany 4/12/2010
136. Sestina 4/12/2010
137. The Lute And The Lyre 1/1/2004
138. Madona Mia 4/12/2010
139. Quia Multum Amavit 1/1/2004
140. A Channel Crossing 1/1/2004
141. Mentana : First Anniversary 1/1/2004
142. Before A Crucifix 1/1/2004
143. A Christmas Carol 4/12/2010
144. The Leper 4/12/2010
145. Sleep 1/1/2004
146. The Oblation 1/1/2004
147. Hermaphroditus 4/12/2010
148. A Watch In The Night 1/3/2003
149. Anima Anceps 4/12/2010
150. A Cameo 4/12/2010
151. The Eve Of Revolution 1/1/2004
152. Genesis 1/1/2004
153. In Harbour 1/1/2004
154. Cor Cordium 1/3/2003
155. March: An Ode 4/12/2010
156. Ave Atque Vale (In Memory Of Charles Baudelaire) 1/4/2003
157. To Walt Whitman In America 1/1/2004
158. Eros 1/1/2004
159. Marzo Pazzo 1/1/2004
160. A Jacobite's Exile 4/12/2010

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.

  • 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.

Best Poem of Algernon Charles Swinburne

A Ballad Of Dreamland

I hid my heart in a nest of roses,
Out of the sun's way, hidden apart;
In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is,
Under the roses I hid my heart.
Why would it sleep not? why should it start,
When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred?
What made sleep flutter his wings and part?
Only the song of a secret bird.

Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes,
And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart;
Lie still, for the wind on the warm seas dozes,
And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art.
Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound ...

Read the full of A Ballad Of Dreamland

Wasted Love

What shall be done for sorrow
With love whose race is run?
Where help is none to borrow,
What shall be done?

In vain his hands have spun
The web, or drawn the furrow:
No rest their toil hath won.

His task is all gone thorough,
And fruit thereof is none:
And who dare say to-morrow
What shall be done?

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