Algernon Charles Swinburne

Mourning on earth, as when dark hours descend,
Wide-winged with plagues, from heaven; when hope and
Wane, and no lips rebuke or reprehend   Mourning on earth
The soul wherein her songs of death and birth,

Am I not he that hath made thee and begotten thee, I,
God, the spirit of man
Wherefore now these eighteen years hast thou forgotten me, From whom thy life began
Thy life-blood and thy life-breath and thy beauty, Thy might of hands a...

I
Time, thy name is sorrow, says the
Heart of life, laid waste with wasting
Ere the change of things and thoughts requicken,   Time, thy name

But now life's face beholden   Seemed bright as heaven's bare
With hope of gifts withholden   But now
From time's full-flowering
Each bud spake bloom to embolden   Love's heart, and seal his vow

Ask nothing more of me, sweet; All I can give you I give
Heart of my heart, were it more,
More would be laid at your feet: Love that should help you to live, Song that should spur you to soar
All things were nothing to give Once to ...

The trumpets of the four winds of the world From the ends of the earth blow battle; the night heaves,
With breasts palpitating and wings refurled, With passion of couched limbs, as one who
Sleeping, and in her sleep she sees uncurled Dre...

From the depth of the dreamy decline of the dawn through a notable nimbus of nebulous noonshine,
Pallid and pink as the palm of the flag-flower that flickers with fear of the flies as they float,
Are they looks of our lovers that lustrou...

Birth and death, twin-sister and twin-brother,
Night and day, on all things that draw breath,
Reign, while time keeps friends with one another   Birth and death
Each brow-bound with flowers diverse of wreath,

Here, where the world is quiet,
Here, where all trouble
Dead winds' and spent waves'
In doubtful dreams of dreams;

Death and birth should dwell not near together:
Wealth keeps house not, even for shame, with dearth:
Fate doth ill to link in one brief tether   Death and birth
Harsh the yoke that binds them, strange the

Love lies bleeding in the bed
Roses lean with smiling mouths or pleading:
Earth lies laughing where the sun's dart clove her:   Love lies bleeding
Stately shine his purple plumes,

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