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. Past Ruin'd Ilion Helen Lives
2. Rose Aylmer
3. With Rosy Hand a Little Girl Prest Down
4. Leaf after Leaf Drops off, Flower after Flower
5. The Poet Who Sleeps

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