Have I not built thee a grave, and wrought Thy grave-clothes on thee of grievous thought, With soft spun verses and tears unshed, And sweet light visions of things undone? I had wrung life dry for your lips to drink, Broken it up for your daily bread: There is not room under all the sky For me that know not of worst or best, Dream or desire of the days before, Sweet things or bitterness, any more.
The singing seasons divide and depart, Winter and summer depart in twain. The series comes to a crashing conclusion with this final installment. Would I have you change now, change at a blow, Startled and stricken, awake and aware?
I shall sleep, and move with the moving ships, Change as the winds change, veer in the tide; My lips will feast on the foam of thy lips, I shall rise with thy rising, with thee subside; Sleep, and not know if she be, if she were, Filled full with life to the eyes and hair, As a rose is fulfilled to the roseleaf tips With splendid summer and perfume and pride.
And all time past, was it all for this?
I have put my days and dreams out of mind, Days that are over, dreams that are done. Swift For the triumph of time of liking and sweet long laughter, That wist not well of the years thereafter Till love woke, smitten at heart by a kiss, With lips that trembled and trailing wings?
Thou hast taken, and shalt not render again; Thou art full of thy dead, and cold as they. O all fair lovers about the world, There is none of you, none, that shall comfort me. I will go down to her, I and none other, Close with her, kiss her and mix her with me; Cling to her, strive with her, hold her fast: Is it worth a tear, is it worth an hour, To think of things that are well outworn?
To have died if you cared I should die for you, clung To my life if you bade me, played my part As it pleased you — these were the thoughts that stung, The dreams that smote with a keener dart Than shafts of love or arrows of death; These were but as fire is, dust, or breath, Or poisonous foam on the tender tongue Of the little snakes that eat my heart.
I shall not change you. I had rather your hair should change in a night, Clear now as the plume of a black bright bird; Your face fail suddenly, cease, turn grey, Die as a leaf that dies in a day.
A barren mother, a mother-maid, Cold and clean as her faint salt flowers. You have chosen and clung to the chance they sent you, Life sweet as perfume and pure as prayer. The ending is predictable, but really, how else could such a series conclude? Come life, come death, not a word be said; Should I lose you living, and vex you dead?
The loves and hours of the life of a man, They are swift and sad, being born of the sea. And grief shall endure not for ever, I know. Have the high gods anything left to give, Save dust and laurels and gold and sand?
Will you lift up your eyes between sadness and bliss, Meet mine, and see where the great love is, And tremble and turn and be changed? Body for body and blood for blood, As the flow of the full sea risen to flood That yearns and trembles before it sink, I had given, and lain down for you, glad and dead.
Is it worth a tear, is it worth an hour, To think of things that are well outworn? How we should slumber, how we should sleep, Far in the dark with the dreams and the dews!
O all fair lovers about the world, There is none of you, none, that shall comfort me. I had wrung life dry for your lips to drink, Broken it up for your daily bread:The Triumph of Time Algernon Charles Swinburne, - Before our lives divide for ever, While time is with us and hands are free, (Time, swift to fasten and swift to sever Hand from hand, as we.
The Triumph of Time [Jerome H. Buckley] on mint-body.com *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. Traces English literature in the nineteenth century and interprets Victorian concern with the passage of time. The Triumph of Time a.k.a. A Clash of Cymbals. Cities in Flight #4 The fourth and final book in the Cities in Flight omnibus, this is the end of the universe.
In style this is very much like the third in the series. In the beginning it seems a little disjointed; conversations are sometimes a little baffling.
There is the occasional spate of technobabble/5. The conclusion to the Cities in Flight saga is of book #4: The Triumph of Time. Like the first three stories, this story is of a struggle between the city and its administrators against an encroaching evil. However, book #4 ramps us the clash of confrontation by adding a parallel of sparring matches/5(3).
The Triumph of Time By Algernon Charles Swinburne About this Poet Swinburne was one of the most accomplished lyric poets of the Victorian era and was a preeminent symbol of rebellion against the conservative values of his time.
The explicit and often pathological sexual themes of.
"The Triumph of Time," one of Swinburne's finest early poems, opens with the figure of the shipwreck, for now, as he is about to part from his unnamed beloved, he realizes that he exists, and will exist henceforth, in the condition of the shipwrecked mint-body.comore, all that follows in the poem must be taken as an interior monologue, for the poet has chosen to keep silent and suppress his.Download