More quotes by Lionel Johnson
Alone he rides, alone,
The fair and fatal king:
Dark night is all his own,
That strange and solemn thing.
By the Statue of King Charles at Charing Cross (1895)
Dark Angel, with thine aching lust
To rid the world of penitence:
Malicious Angel, who still dost
My soul such subtile violence!
The Dark Angel (1895)
Some players upon plaintive strings
Publish their wistfulness abroad;
I have not spoken of these things,
Save to one man, and unto God.
Our wearier spirit faints,
Vexed in the world‘s employ:
His soul was of the saints;
And art to him was joy.
By the Statue of King Charles at Charing Cross (1895)
Well fare she, well! As perfect beauty fares;
And those high places, that are beauty's home.
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