(5 April 1837 - 10 April 1909 / London)

Prelude - Tristan And Isolde

Fate, out of the deep sea's gloom,
When a man's heart's pride grows great,
And nought seems now to foredoom

Fate, laden with fears in wait,
Draws close through the clouds that loom,
Till the soul see, all too late,

More dark than a dead world's tomb,
More high than the sheer dawn's gate,
More deep than the wide sea's womb,

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Comments (2)

Which then results to...an exquisite word arranger, i suppose?
Gosh, Swinburne's meter and rhyme is flawless. He doesn't say anything important, but what he does say he says exqusitely.