Algernon Charles Swinburne

(5 April 1837 - 10 April 1909 / London)

Algernon Charles Swinburne Poems

121. A New Year's Message To Joseph Mazzini 1/1/2004
122. Envoi 1/1/2004
123. Super Flumina Babylonis 1/1/2004
124. Armand Barbes 1/1/2004
125. Quia Multum Amavit 1/1/2004
126. A Singing Lesson 1/1/2004
127. Before Dawn 4/12/2010
128. A Song In Time Of Order. 1852 4/12/2010
129. Recollections 1/1/2004
130. A Jacobite's Exile 4/12/2010
131. Anima Anceps 4/12/2010
132. The Eve Of Revolution 1/1/2004
133. Three Faces 1/1/2004
134. A Child's Battles 4/12/2010
135. Rococo 4/12/2010
136. Not A Child 1/1/2004
137. A Dialogue 12/31/2002
138. Epilogue 1/1/2004
139. A Dialog 1/1/2004
140. A Lamentation 4/12/2010
141. A Litany 4/12/2010
142. Sestina 4/12/2010
143. The Lute And The Lyre 1/1/2004
144. A Channel Crossing 1/1/2004
145. Félise 4/12/2010
146. Before A Crucifix 1/1/2004
147. A Christmas Carol 4/12/2010
148. Sleep 1/1/2004
149. The Oblation 1/1/2004
150. Hendecasyllabics 4/12/2010
151. A Watch In The Night 1/3/2003
152. A Cameo 4/12/2010
153. Genesis 1/1/2004
154. Had I Wist 1/1/2004
155. In Harbour 1/1/2004
156. Cor Cordium 1/3/2003
157. Swan Song 4/12/2010
158. Ave Atque Vale (In Memory Of Charles Baudelaire) 1/4/2003
159. To Walt Whitman In America 1/1/2004
160. Eros 1/1/2004

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.

    8 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.

    10 person liked.
    5 person did not like.
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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