There lived a singer in France of old By the tideless dolorous midland sea. In a land of sand and rain and gold There shone one woman, and none but she.
Algernon Charles SwinburneNot with dreams, but with blood and with iron, Shall a nation be moulded at last.
Algernon Charles SwinburneThe sun is all about the world we see, the breath and strength of every spring.
Algernon Charles SwinburneThere was a poor poet named Clough, Whom his friends all united to puff, But the public, though dull, Had not such a skull As belonged to believers in Clough.
Algernon Charles Swinburne