YEARS, many parti-colour'd years,
Some have crept on, and some have flown
Since first before me fell those tears
I never could see fall alone.
Years, not so many, are to come,
Years not so varied, when from you
One more will fall: when, carried home,
I see it not, nor hear Adieu.
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 |
Separation |
Late Leaves |
Finis |
Related books |
Walter Savage Landor at amazon.co.uk |