English poem

On Lucretia Borgia's Hair

Borgia, thou once wert almost too august And high for adoration; now thou'rt dust. All that remains of thee these plaits unfold, Calm hair, meandering in pellucid gold.

More by Walter Savage Landor

On Himself
On His Eightieth Birthday
On His Seventy-Fifth Birthday
On Living Too Long
On Music
On The Death Of M. D'Ossoli And His Wife Margaret Fuller
Once, and once only, have I seen thy face,
One Lovely Name

All 138 poems by Walter Savage Landor