Celebrating the Birthday of Algernon Charles Swinburne during National Poetry Month

Image credit: www.1890s.ca

Today, as we celebrate National Poetry Month, we also celebrate the birthday of Algernon Charles Swinburne. Algernon Charles Swinburne (April 5, 1837 – April 10, 1909) was an English poet, playwright, novelist, and critic. He wrote several novels and collections of poetry such as Poems and Ballads (1866), and contributed to the famous Eleventh Edition of the Encyclopædia Britannica.

Swinburne was one of the most controversial literary figures of the Victorian period. He wrote about many taboo topics, such as lesbianism, cannibalism, sado-masochism, and anti-theism. His poems have many common motifs, such as the Ocean, Time, and Death. Several historical people are featured in his poems, such as Sappho ("Sapphics"), Anactoria ("Anactoria"), Jesus ("Hymn to Proserpine": Galilaee, La. "Galilean") and Catullus ("To Catullus").

Swinburne's poetic works include Atalanta in Calydon (1865), Songs before Sunrise (1871), Poems and Ballads Second Series, (1878) Tristram of Lyonesse (1882), and Poems and Ballads Third Series (1889). Please enjoy this featured poem, In the Orchard, by poet Algernon Charles Swinburne.

In the Orchard

By Algernon Charles Swinburne

Leave go my hands, let me catch breath and see;

Let the dew-fall drench either side of me;

    Clear apple-leaves are soft upon that moon

Seen sidelong like a blossom in the tree;

    And God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

The grass is thick and cool, it lets us lie.

Kissed upon either cheek and either eye,

    I turn to thee as some green afternoon

Turns toward sunset, and is loth to die;

    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Lie closer, lean your face upon my side,

Feel where the dew fell that has hardly dried,

    Hear how the blood beats that went nigh to swoon;

The pleasure lives there when the sense has died,

    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

O my fair lord, I charge you leave me this:

It is not sweeter than a foolish kiss?

    Nay take it then, my flower, my first in June,

My rose, so like a tender mouth it is:

    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Love, till dawn sunder night from day with fire

Dividing my delight and my desire,

    The crescent life and love the plenilune,

Love me though dusk begin and dark retire;

    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Ah, my heart fails, my blood draws back; I know,

When life runs over, life is near to go;

    And with the slain of love love’s ways are strewn,

And with their blood, if love will have it so;

    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Ah, do thy will now; slay me if thou wilt;

There is no building now the walls are built,

    No quarrying now the corner-stone is hewn,

No drinking now the vine’s whole blood is spilt;

    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Nay, slay me now; nay, for I will be slain;

Pluck thy red pleasure from the teeth of pain,

    Break down thy vine ere yet grape-gatherers prune,

Slay me ere day can slay desire again;

    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Yea, with thy sweet lips, with thy sweet sword; yea

Take life and all, for I will die, I say;

    Love, I gave love, is life a better boon?

For sweet night’s sake I will not live till day;

    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.

Nay, I will sleep then only; nay, but go.

Ah sweet, too sweet to me, my sweet, I know

    Love, sleep, and death go to the sweet same tune;

Hold my hair fast, and kiss me through it soon.

    Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.