Walter Savage Landor

  • First bring me Raffael, who alone hath seen
    In all her purity heaven’s virgin queen,
    Alone hath felt true beauty; bring me then
    Titian, ennobler of the noblest men;
    And next the sweet Correggio, nor chastise
    His little Cupids for those wicked eyes....

  • There is delight in singing, though none hear
    Beside the singer; and there is delight
    In praising, though the praiser sit alone
    And see the praised far off him, far above.
    Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world’s,
    Therefore on him no speech! and brief...

  • The Dreamy rhymer’s measured snore
    Falls heavy on our ears no more;
    And by long strides are left behind
    The dear delights of womankind,
    Who wage their battles like their loves,
    In satin waistcoats and kid gloves,
    And have achieved the crowning work...

  • How many verses have I thrown
    Into the fire because the one
    Peculiar word, the wanted most,
    Was irrecoverably lost!

  •         THE Wisest of the wise
            Listen to pretty lies,
              And love to hear them told;
            Doubt not that Solomon
            Listened to many a one,—
    Some in his youth, and more when he grew old.

            I never sat among...

  • From “Gebir,” Book I.
    I AM not daunted, no; I will engage.
    But first, said she, what wager will you lay?
    A sheep, I answered, add whate’er you will.
    I cannot, she replied, make that return:
    Our hided vessels in their pitchy round
    Seldom, unless from...

  • When hath wind or rain
    Borne hard upon weak plant that wanted me,
    And I (however they might bluster round)
    Walkt off? ’T were most ungrateful; for sweet scents
    Are the swift vehicles of still sweeter thoughts,
    And nurse and pillow the dull memory

  • 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.

  • Man

    In his own image the Creator made,
      His own pure sunbeam quickened thee, O man!
      Thou breathing dial! since the day began
    The present hour was ever marked with shade!

  • 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...