Heartsease
THERE is a flower I wish to wear,
But not until first worn by you—
Heartsease—of all earth’s flowers most rare;
Bring it; and bring enough for two.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Ianthe’s Troubles
YOUR pleasures spring like daisies in the grass,
Cut down and up again as blithe as ever;
From you, Ianthe, little troubles pass
Like little ripples in a sunny river.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Persistence
MY hopes retire; my wishes as before
Struggle to find their resting-place in vain:
The ebbing sea thus beats against the shore;
The shore repels it; it returns again.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Man
IN his own image the Creator made,
His own pure sunbeam quicken’d thee, O man!
Thou breathing dial! since thy day began
The present hour was ever mark’d with shade!
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Ianthe
From you, Ianthe, little troubles pass
Like little ripples down a sunny river;
Your pleasures spring like daisies in the grass,
Cut down, and up again as blithe as ever.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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On Lucretia Borgia’s Hair
BORGIA, thou once wert almost too august
And high for adoration; now thou ’rt dust;
All that remains of thee these plaits unfold,
Calm hair meandering in pellucid gold.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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I Strove with None
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.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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On His Seventy-fifth Birthday
I strove with none, for none was worth my strife;
Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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On His Seventy-fifth Birthday
I strove with none; for none was worth my strife,
Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of life,
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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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.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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