Chastelard Monologue from Chastelard, a Tragedy

From Chastelard, a Tragedy by Algernon Charles Swinburne

male · contemplative · 1:15 min

Ay, my old lord's-- The sweet chief poet, my dear friend long since? Give me the book. Lo you, this verse of his: With coming lilies in late April came Her body, fashioned whiter for their shame; And roses, touched with blood since Adon bled, From her fair color filled their lips with red: A goodly praise: I could not praise you so. I read that while your marriage-feast went on. Leave me this book, I pray you: I would read The hymn of death here over ere I die; I shall know soon how much he knew of death When that was written. One thing I know now, I shall not die with half a heart at least, Nor shift my face, nor weep my fault alive, Nor swear if I might live and do new deeds I would do better. Let me keep the book.

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