The Many by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Greene, garlanded with February's few flowers
Ere March came in with Marlowe's rapturous rage;
Peele, from whose hand the sweet white locks of age
Took the mild chaplet woven of honored hours;
Nash, laughing hard; Lodge, flushed from lyric bowers;
And Lilly, a goldfinch in a twisted cage
Fed by some gay great lady's pettish page
Till short sweet songs gush clear like short spring showers;
Kid, whose grim sport still gamboled over graves;
And Chettle, in whose fresh funereal verse
Weeps Marian yet on Robin's wildwood hearse;
Cooke, whose light boat of song one soft breath saves,
Sighed from a maiden's amorous mouth averse;
Live likewise ye--Time takes not you for slaves.

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Other poems by 'Algernon Charles Swinburne'

Ben Jonson

Hope and Fear

William Shakespeare

Love and Sleep

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A Leave-Taking

Beaumont and Fletcher

Not A Child

A Baby's Death

A Night-Piece By Millet

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