Algernon Charles Swinburne: Всі вірші поета

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The Lute And The Lyre

Deep desire, that pierces heart and spirit to the root,

Finds reluctant voice in verse that yearns like soaring fire,

Takes exultant voice when music holds in high pursuit

Deep desire.

Keen as burns the passion of the rose whose buds respire,

Strong as grows the yearning of the blossom toward the fruit,

Sounds the secret half unspoken ere the deep tones tire.

Slow subsides the rapture that possessed love's flower-soft lute,

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Nephelidia

From the depth of the dreamy decline of the dawn through a notable nimbus of nebulous noonshine,

Pallid and pink as the palm of the flag-flower that flickers with fear of the flies as they float,

Are they looks of our lovers that lustrously lean from a marvel of mystic miraculous moonshine,

These that we feel in the blood of our blushes that thicken and threaten with throbs through the throat?

Thicken and thrill as a theatre thronged at appeal of an actor's appalled agitation,

Fainter with fear of the fires of the future than pale with the promise of pride in the past;

Flushed with the famishing fullness of fever that reddens with radiance of rathe recreation,

Gaunt as the ghastliest of glimpses that gleam through the gloom of the gloaming when ghosts go aghast?

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Prelude

Between the green bud and the red

Youth sat and sang by Time, and shed

From eyes and tresses flowers and tears,

From heart and spirit hopes and fears,

Upon the hollow stream whose bed

Is channelled by the foamless years;

And with the white the gold-haired head

Mixed running locks, and in Time's ears

Algernon Charles Swinburne

On The Downs

A faint sea without wind or sun;

A sky like flameless vapour dun;

A valley like an unsealed grave

That no man cares to weep upon,

Bare, without boon to crave,

Or flower to save.

And on the lip's edge of the down,

Here where the bent-grass burns to brown

Algernon Charles Swinburne

A Ballad of Death

Kneel down, fair Love, and fill thyself with tears,

Girdle thyself with sighing for a girth

Upon the sides of mirth,

Cover thy lips and eyelids, let thine ears

Be filled with rumour of people sorrowing;

Make thee soft raiment out of woven sighs

Upon the flesh to cleave,

Set pains therein and many a grievous thing,

Algernon Charles Swinburne

A Ballad Of Burdens

The burden of fair women. Vain delight,

And love self-slain in some sweet shameful way,

And sorrowful old age that comes by night

As a thief comes that has no heart by day,

And change that finds fair cheeks and leaves them grey,

And weariness that keeps awake for hire,

And grief that says what pleasure used to say;

This is the end of every man's desire.

Algernon Charles Swinburne

The Eve Of Revolution

The trumpets of the four winds of the world

From the ends of the earth blow battle; the night heaves,

With breasts palpitating and wings refurled,

With passion of couched limbs, as one who grieves

Sleeping, and in her sleep she sees uncurled

Dreams serpent-shapen, such as sickness weaves,

Down the wild wind of vision caught and whirled,

Dead leaves of sleep, thicker than autumn leaves,

Algernon Charles Swinburne

The Way Of The Wind

The wind's way in the deep sky's hollow

None may measure, as none can say

How the heart in her shows the swallow

The wind's way.

Hope nor fear can avail to stay

Waves that whiten on wrecks that wallow,

Times and seasons that wane and slay.

Life and love, till the strong night swallow

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Prelude - Lohengrin

Love, out of the depth of things,

As a dewfall felt from above,

From the heaven whence only springs

Love,

Love, heard from the heights thereof,

The clouds and the watersprings,

Draws close as the clouds remove.

And the soul in it speaks and sings,

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Past Days

Dead and gone, the days we had together,

Shadow-stricken all the lights that shone

Round them, flown as flies the blown foam's feather,

Dead and gone.

Where we went, we twain, in time foregone,

Forth by land and sea, and cared not whether,

If I go again, I go alone.

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Sleep

Sleep, when a soul that her own clouds cover

Wails that sorrow should always keep

Watch, nor see in the gloom above her

Sleep,

Down, through darkness naked and steep,

Sinks, and the gifts of his grace recover

Soon the soul, though her wound be deep.

God beloved of us, all men's lover,

Algernon Charles Swinburne

A Ninth Birthday

Three times thrice hath winter's rough white wing

Crossed and curdled wells and streams with ice

Since his birth whose praises love would sing

Three times thrice.

Earth nor sea bears flower nor pearl of price

Fit to crown the forehead of my king,

Honey meet to please him, balm, nor spice.

Love can think of nought but love to bring

Algernon Charles Swinburne