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. Idle Words
2. Twenty Years Hence My Eyes May Grow
3. To Wordsworth
4. Leaf after Leaf Drops off, Flower after Flower
5. A Pastoral

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