Thou Hast Not Raised
Thou hast not rais'd, Ianthe, such desire
In any breast as thou hast rais'd in mine.
No wandering meteor now, no marshy fire,
Leads on my steps, but lofty, but divine:
And, if thou chillest me, as chill thou dost
When I approach too near, too boldly gaze,
So chills the blushing morn, so chills the host
Of vernal stars, with light more chaste than
day's.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Autumn
MILD is the parting year, and sweet
The odour of the falling spray;
Life passes on more rudely fleet,
And balmless is its closing day.
I wait its close, I court its gloom,
But mourn that never must there fall
Or on my breast or on my tomb
The tear that would have soothed it all.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Remain!
REMAIN, ah not in youth alone!
--Tho' youth, where you are, long will stay--
But when my summer days are gone,
And my autumnal haste away.
'Can I be always by your side?'
No; but the hours you can, you must,
Nor rise at Death's approaching stride,
Nor go when dust is gone to dust.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Why, Why Repine
Why, why repine, my pensive friend,
At pleasures slipp'd away?
Some the stern Fates will never lend,
And all refuse to stay.
I see the rainbow in the sky,
The dew upon the grass,
I see them, and I ask not why
They glimmer or they pass.
With folded arms I linger not
To call them back; 'twere vain;
In this, or in some other spot,
I know they'll shine again.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Twenty Years Hence
Twenty years hence my eyes may grow
If not quite dim, yet rather so,
Still yours from others they shall know
Twenty years hence.
Twenty years hence though it may hap
That I be called to take a nap
In a cool cell where thunderclap
Was never heard,
There breathe but o'er my arch of grass
A not too sadly sighed Alas,
And I shall catch, ere you can pass,
That winged word.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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In after Time
NO, my own love of other years!
No, it must never be.
Much rests with you that yet endears,
Alas! but what with me?
Could those bright years o’er me revolve
So gay, o’er you so fair,
The pearl of life we would dissolve
And each the cup might share.
You show that truth can ne’er decay,
Whatever fate befalls;
I, that the myrtle and the bay
Shoot fresh on ruin’d walls.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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The Chrysolites and Rubies Bacchus Brings
The chrysolites and rubies Bacchus brings
To crown the feast where swells the broad-vein'd brow,
Where maidens blush at what the minstrel sings,
They who have coveted may covet now.
Bring me, in cool alcove, the grape uncrush'd,
The peach of pulpy cheek and down mature,
Where every voice (but bird's or child's) is hush'd,
And every thought, like the brook nigh, runs pure.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Judge And Thief
O'erfoaming with rage
The foul-mouth'd judge Page
Thus question'd a thief in the dock:
'Didst never hear read
In the church, lump of lead!
Loose chip from the devil's own block!
'Thou shalt not steal?'' 'Yea,'
The white chap did say,
''Thou shalt not:' but thou was the word.
Had he piped out 'Jem Hewitt!
Be sure you don't do it,'
I'd ha' thought of it twice ere I did it, my lord.'
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Shakespeare and Milton
THE TONGUE of England, that which myriads
Have spoken and will speak, were paralyz’d
Hereafter, but two mighty men stand forth
Above the flight of ages, two alone;
One crying out,
All nations spoke through me.
The other:
True; and through this trumpet burst God’s word; the fall of Angels, and the doom
First of immortal, then of mortal, Man.
Glory! be glory! not to me, to God.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Lately our poets
Lately our poets loiter'd in green lanes,
Content to catch the ballads of the plains;
I fancied I had strength enough to climb
A loftier station at no distant time,
And might securely from intrusion doze
Upon the flowers thro' which Ilissus flows.
In those pale olive grounds all voices cease,
And from afar dust fills the paths of Greece.
My sluber broken and my doublet torn,
I find the laurel also bears a thorn.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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