Poem by Walter Savage Landor

On Seeing a Hair of Lucretia Borgia

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.

1. Ianthe! You Are Call'd to Cross the Sea!
2. Twenty Years Hence My Eyes May Grow
3. Once, and Once Only, Have I Seen Thy Face
4. The Gates of Fame and of the Grave
5. Ternissa! You Are Fled!

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