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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On Living Too Long
IS it not better at an early hour
In its calm cell to rest the weary head,
While birds are singing and while blooms the bower,
Than sit the fire out and go starv’d to bed?
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Finis
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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