Algernon Charles Swinburne
We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; Today will die tomorrow; Time stoops to no man's lure.Collection: Men
To wipe off the froth of falsehood from the foaming lips of inebriated virtue, when fresh from the sexless orgies of morality and reeling from the delirious riot of religion, may doubtless be a charitable office.Collection: Office
No blast of air or fire of sun Puts out the light whereby we run With girdled loins our lamplit race, And each from each takes heart of grace And spirit till his turn be done.Collection: Running