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. She I Love
2. Tell Me Not Things Past All Belief
3. Twenty Years Hence My Eyes May Grow
4. Rose Aylmer
5. Dirce

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