Swinburne anyone?

Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909)

A MATCH

IF love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf,
Our lives would grow together
In sad or singing weather,
Blown fields or flowerful closes
Green pleasure or grey grief ;
If love were what the rose is,
And I were like the leaf.

If I were what the words are,
And love were like the tune,
With double sound and single
Delight our lips would mingle,
With kisses glad as birds are
That get sweet rain at noon ;
If I were what the words are,
And love were like the tune.

If you were life, my darling,
And I your love were death,
We ‘d shine and snow together
Ere March made sweet the weather
With daffodil and starling
And hours of fruitful breath ;
If you were life, my darling,
And I your love were death.

If you were thrall to sorrow,
And I were page to joy,
We ‘d play for lives and seasons
With loving looks and treasons
And tears of night and morrow
And laughs of maid and boy ;
If you were thrall to sorrow,
And I were page to joy.

If you were April’s lady,
And I were lord in May,
We ‘d throw with leaves for hours
And draw for days with flowers,
Till day like night were shady
And night were bright like day ;
If you were April’s lady,
And I were lord in May.

If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain,
We ‘d hunt down love together,
Pluck out his flying-feather,
And teach his feet a measure,
And find his mouth a rein ;
If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain.

I had made it to the advanced age of…well, let’s not mention that, without reading anything by Swinburne.  I had seen the name vertically on the bookshelf crowded with the other Victorians in my mother’s keeping.  Not until I perused (I can’t say read because I did skip parts) the mega work of literary criticism Genius by Harold Bloom, did I encounter the sounds of his poetry.  I think I might post my criticism of his criticism. I am glad to have been directed toward such a poem as the one I have pasted above. LOVE IT!

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