You smiled, you spoke, and I believed
You smiled, you spoke, and I believed,
By every word and smile deceived.
Another man would hope no more;
Nor hope I what I hoped before:
But let not this last wish be vain;
Deceive, deceive me once again!
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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To Ianthe
YOU smil’d, you spoke, and I believ’d,
By every word and smile deceiv’d.
Another man would hope no more;
Nor hope I what I hop’d before:
But let not this last wish be vain;
Deceive, deceive me once again!
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Proud Word You Never Spoke
Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak
Four not exempt from pride some future day.
Resting on one white hand a warm wet cheek,
Over my open volume you will say,
'This man loved me'—then rise and trip away.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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A Prophecy
PROUD word you never spoke, but you will speak
Four not exempt from pride some future day.
Resting on one white hand a warm wet cheek,
Over my open volume you will say,
“This man loved me!” then rise and trip away.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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For an Epitaph at Fiesole
LO! where the four mimosas blend their shade
In calm repose at last is Landor laid;
For ere he slept he saw them planted here
By her his soul had ever held most dear,
And he had liv’d enough when he had dried her tear.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Rose Aylmer
Ah, what avails the sceptred race!
Ah, what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and sighs
I consecrate to thee.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Rose Aylmer
Ah what avails the sceptred race,
Ah what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,
A night of memories and of sighs
I consecrate to thee.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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How to Read Me
TO turn my volumes o’er nor find
(Sweet unsuspicious friend!)
Some vestige of an erring mind
To chide or discommend,
Believe that all were lov’d like you
With love from blame exempt,
Believe that all my griefs were true
And all my joys but dreamt.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Little Aglaë
To Her Father, on Her Statue Being Called Like Her
FATHER! the little girl we see
Is not, I fancy, so like me;
You never hold her on your knee.
When she came home, the other day,
You kiss’d her; but I cannot say
She kiss’d you first and ran away.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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I Wander O'er The Sandy Heath
I wander o'er the sandy heath
Where the white rush waves high,
Where adders close before me wreath
And tawny kites sail screaming by.
Alone I wander; I alone
Could love to wander there;
'But wherefore!' let my church-yard stone
Look toward Tawy and declare.
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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