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 SwinburneI dore not always touch her, lest the kiss Leave my lips charred. Yea, Lord, a little bliss, Brief, bitter bliss, one hath for a great sin; Nathless thou knowest how sweet a thing it is.
Algernon Charles SwinburneWe are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; Today will die tomorrow; Time stoops to no man's lure.
Algernon Charles Swinburne