Algernon Charles Swinburne

(5 April 1837 - 10 April 1909 / London)

Algernon Charles Swinburne Poems

161. Rococo 4/12/2010
162. The Last Oracle 1/3/2003
163. Comparisons 12/31/2002
164. Death And Birth 1/1/2004
165. Eurydice - To Victor Hugo 1/1/2004
166. A Landscape By Courbet 1/1/2004
167. Tenebrae 1/1/2004
168. To Walt Whitman In America 1/1/2004
169. The Triumph Of Time 4/12/2010
170. A Year's Carols 12/31/2002
171. Mourning 1/1/2004
172. Autumn And Winter 1/1/2004
173. Aperotos Eros 1/1/2004
174. Chorus From 'Atalanta' 1/4/2003
175. Non Dolet 1/1/2004
176. A Jacobite's Exile 4/12/2010
177. A Ninth Birthday 1/1/2004
178. A Ballad Of François Villon, Prince Of All Ballad-Makers 4/12/2010
179. Before The Mirror 4/12/2010
180. The Complaint Of Lisa 1/3/2003
181. The Way Of The Wind 1/1/2004
182. A Swimmer's Dream 1/3/2003
183. Blessed Among Women --To The Signora Cairoli 1/1/2004
184. Itylus 1/3/2003
185. Sapphics 4/12/2010
186. Hymn Of Man 1/1/2004
187. Hertha 1/4/2003
188. Love In A Mist 1/1/2004
189. Nephelidia 1/3/2003
190. Leave-Taking 1/3/2003
191. Babyhood 1/1/2004
192. Laus Veneris 4/12/2010
193. At Sea 1/1/2004
194. Etude Realiste 1/1/2004
195. To A Cat 12/31/2002
196. An Interlude 4/12/2010
197. The Year Of The Rose 1/3/2003
198. Cleopatra 12/31/2002
199. Dead Love 1/1/2004
200. Sorrow 12/31/2002

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

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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