Poem by Walter Savage Landor

The Evening Star

Smiles soon abate; the boisterous throes
  Of anger long burst forth;
Inconstantly the south-wind blows,
  But steadily the north.

Thy star, O Venus! often changes
  Its radiant seat above,
The chilling pole-star never ranges --
  'Tis thus with Hate and Love.

1. A Pastoral
2. Idle Words
3. The Gates of Fame and of the Grave
4. Twenty Years Hence My Eyes May Grow
5. Pleasure! Why Thus Desert the Heart

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