Poeticous Logo
it
English Español Français Italiano
The Death of Socrates, by Jacques-Louis David
Walter Savage Landor

Walter Savage Landor

Dying Speech of an Old Philosopher

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife:
        Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm’d both hands before the fire of Life;
        It sinks; and I am ready to depart.

#Romantic #Epigram

4
Ti è piaciuta questa lettura? Offriteci un caffè!.
Il tuo aiuto ci permette di esistere.
Piaciuto o affrontato da...
Altre opere di Walter Savage Landor...
Verse

Past ruined Ilion Helen lives, Alcestis rises from the shades. Verse calls them forth; 'tis verse… Immortal youth to mortal maids. Soon shall oblivion’s deepening ve…
To Sleep

COME, Sleep! but mind ye! if you… The little girl that struck me at… By Jove! I would not give you hal… For all your poppy—heads and all y…
In after Time

NO, my own love of other years! No, it must never be. Much rests with you that yet endea… Alas! but what with me? Could those bright years o’er me r…
On Lucretia Borgia’s Hair

BORGIA, thou once wert almost t… And high for adoration; now thou ’… All that remains of thee these pla… Calm hair meandering in pellucid g…
On the Death of M. D’Ossoli and His Wife Margaret Fuller

OVER his millions Death has lawf… But over thee, brave D’Ossoli! no… After a longer struggle, in a figh… Worthy of Italy, to youth restor’… Thou, far from home, art sunk bene…
Death Stands Above Me, Whispering Low

Death stands above me, whispering… I know not what into my ear: Of his strange language all I kno… Is, there is not a word of fear.
 1
A Railroad Eclogue

Father: What brought thee back, l… Son: Father! the same feet As took me brought me back, I war… Father: Couldst thou not find the… Son: The deuce himself
The Georges

George the First was always recko… Vile, but viler George the Second… And what mortal ever heard Any good of George the Third? When from earth the Fourth descen…
Late Leaves

The leaves are falling; so am I; The few late flowers have moisture… So have I too. Scarcely on any bough is heard Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird
To a Cyclamen

I COME to visit thee agen, My little flowerless cyclamen; To touch the hand, almost to press… That cheer’d thee in thy lonelines… What could thy careful guardian fi…
A Thought

BLYTHE bell, that calls to brid… Tolls deep a darker day; The very shower that feeds the flo… Weeps also its decay.
Mother, I cannot Mind my Wheel

Mother, I cannot mind my wheel; My fingers ache, my lips are dry: Oh! if you felt the pain I feel! But Oh, who ever felt as I! No longer could I doubt him true;
A Prophecy

PROUD word you never spoke, but… Four not exempt from pride some fu… Resting on one white hand a warm w… Over my open volume you will say, “This man loved me!” then rise and…
Cowslips

WITH rosy hand a little girl pre… A boss of fresh—cull’d cowslips in… Often as they sprang up again, a f… Show’d she dislik’d resistance to… But when they droop’d their heads…
Last Lines

Death stands above me, whispering… I know not what into my ear: Of his strange language all I kno… Is, there is not a word of fear.



Alto