English poem

On His Seventy-Fifth Birthday

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife; Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art; I warmed both hands before the fire of Life; It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

More by Walter Savage Landor

On An Eclipse Of The Moon
On Catullus
On Himself
On His Eightieth Birthday
On Living Too Long
On Lucretia Borgia's Hair
On Music
On The Death Of M. D'Ossoli And His Wife Margaret Fuller

All 138 poems by Walter Savage Landor