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.
About the poet |
Walter Savage Landor |
By the same poet |
The Maid's Lament |
Rose Aylmer |
Ianthe |
Twenty Years hence |
Verse |
Proud Word you never spoke |
Resignation |
Mother, I cannot mind my Wheel |
Autumn |
Remain! |
Absence |
Of Clementina |
Ianthe's Question |
On Catullus |
Dirce |
Alciphron and Leucippe |
Years |
Separation |
Late Leaves |
Related books |
Walter Savage Landor at amazon.co.uk |