>Born in what spring and on what city’s tomb,>By whose hand wast thou reached, and plucked for whom?>There hangs about thee, could the soul’s sense tell,>An odour as of love and of love’s doom.T. Swinburne, talking to a flower
>>25171449It's very beautiful. And I like it very much. But do you ever get the impression that every "very good" poem is pointing at the exact same sensation
>And the same wind sang and the same waves whitened,>And or ever the garden’s last petals were shed,>In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that had lightened,>Love was dead.
>>25171451Transience obviously
>>25171449This dude had the worst haircut of any writer in history
>>25172270Fuck you
my impression of a Swinburne poem:>And the leaves and wind and the sadness,>And the whiff of the rose in the gloom,>And the flesh and its beautiful whiteness,>And the frosty black stones of the tomb,>And the transient pleasures of summer,>And the spring which is transient too,>All these things can be somewhat a bummer,>Since they always remind me of you.
>>25172277What's the matter, did you take that portrait in to your barber this week as a reference?
>>25172270wrong, it's a good look
>>25172249Not quite
>>25172368I chuckled
>>25172470best shit i've ever seen
Now all strange hours and all strange loves are over, Dreams and desires and sombre songs and sweet, Hast thou found place at the great knees and feetOf some pale Titan-woman like a lover, Such as thy vision here solicited, Under the shadow of her fair vast head,The deep division of prodigious breasts, The solemn slope of mighty limbs asleep, The weight of awful tresses that still keepThe savour and shade of old-world pine-forests Where the wet hill-winds weep?For thee, O now a silent soul, my brother, Take at my hands this garland, and farewell. Thin is the leaf, and chill the wintry smell,And chill the solemn earth, a fatal mother, With sadder than the Niobean womb, And in the hollow of her breasts a tomb.Content thee, howsoe'er, whose days are done; There lies not any troublous thing before, Nor sight nor sound to war against thee more,For whom all winds are quiet as the sun, All waters as the shore.Ave atque vale Baudie
>>25171449Sounds lovely. I wanted to check more of him but found he wrote lesbianic inspired works. Unironically pathetic and disgusting for a man.
>>25172987Eat shit>Lo, this is she that was the world’s delight;>The old grey years were parcels of her might;>The strewings of the ways wherein she trod>Were the twain seasons of the day and night.>Lo, she was thus when her clear limbs enticed>All lips that now grow sad with kissing Christ,>Stained with blood fallen from the feet of God,>The feet and hands whereat our souls were priced.>Alas, Lord, surely thou art great and fair.>But lo her wonderfully woven hair!>And thou didst heal us with thy piteous kiss;>But see now, Lord; her mouth is lovelier.
