The Poems and Prose of Ernest Dowson, with a Memoir by Arthur Symons

“AUTUMNAL Pale amber sunlight falls across The reddening October trees, That hardly sway before a breeze As soft as summer: summer's loss Seems little, dear! on days like these. Let misty autumn be our part! The twilight of the year is sweet: Where shadow and the darkness meet Our love, a twilight of the heart Eludes a little time's deceit. Are we not better and at home In dreamful Autumn, we who deem No harvest joy is worth a dream? A little while and night shall come, A little while, then, let us dream. Beyond the pearled horizons lie Winter and night: awaiting these We garner this poor hour of ease, Until love turn from us and die Beneath the drear November trees.””

— Ernest Christopher Dowson

“They are not long, the days of wine and roses:Out of a misty dreamOur path emerges for awhile, then closesWithin a dream.””

— Ernest Christopher Dowson

“I cried for madder music and for stronger wine...””

— Ernest Christopher Dowson

“I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,Yea, all the time, because the dance was long;I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.””

— Ernest Christopher Dowson

“I was not sorrowful, but only tiredOf everything that ever I desired.””

— Ernest Christopher Dowson

“Ah, Lalage! while life is ours, Hoard not thy beauty rose and white, But pluck the pretty fleeing flowers That deck our little path of light: For all too soon we twain shall tread The bitter pastures of the dead: Estranged, sad spectres of the night.””

— Ernest Christopher Dowson

“There comes an end to summer,To spring showers and hoar rime;His mumming to each mummerHas somewhere end in time,And since life ends and laughter,And leaves fall and tears dry,Who shall call love immortal,When all that is must die ? Nay, sweet, let’s leave unspokenThe vows the fates gainsay,For all vows made are broken,We love but while we may.Let’s kiss when kissing pleases,And part when kisses pall,Perchance, this time to-morrow,We shall not love at all. You ask my love completest,As strong next year as now,The devil take you, sweetest,Ere I make aught such vow.Life is a masque that changes,A fig for constancy!No love at all were better,Than love which is not free."-"To His Mistress””

— Ernest Christopher Dowson

“When this, our rose, is faded,And these, our days, are done,In lands profoundly shadedFrom tempest and from sun:Ah, once more come together,Shall we forgive the past,And safe from worldly weatherPossess our souls at last?Or in our place of shadowsShall still we stretch an handTo green, remembered meadows,Of that old pleasant land?And vainly there foregathered,Shall we regret the sun?The rose of love, ungathered?The bay, we have not won?Ah, child! the world's dark margesMay lead to Nevermore,The stately funeral bargesSail for an unknown shore,And love we vow to-morrow,And pride we serve to-day:What if they both should borrowSad hues of yesterday?Our pride! Ah, should we miss it,Or will it serve at last?Our anger, if we kiss it,Is like a sorrow past.While roses deck the garden,While yet the sun is high,Doff sorry pride for pardon,Or ever love go by."-"Amantium Irae””

— Ernest Christopher Dowson

“You ask my love completest,As strong next year as now,The devil take you, sweetest,Ere I make aught such vow.Life is a masque that changes,A fig for constancy!No love at all were better,Than love which is not free.””

— Ernest Christopher Dowson