Edward Dowden Poems
|1.||A New Hymn For Solitude||1/1/2004|
|3.||By The Window||1/1/2004|
|10.||In The Cathedral||1/1/2004|
|11.||In The Cathedral Close||1/1/2004|
|12.||In The Garden I: The Garden||1/1/2004|
|13.||In The Garden Ii: Visions||1/1/2004|
|14.||In The Garden Iii: An Interior||1/1/2004|
|15.||In The Garden Iv: The Singer||1/1/2004|
|16.||In The Garden V: A Summer Moon||1/1/2004|
|17.||In The Garden Vi: A Peach||1/1/2004|
|18.||In The Garden Vii: Early Autumn||1/1/2004|
|19.||In The Garden Viii: Later Autumn||1/1/2004|
|20.||Leonardo's 'Monna Lisa'||1/1/2004|
|23.||The Secret Of The Universe||1/1/2004|
My long first year of perfect love,
My deep new dream of joy; She was a little chubby girl,
I was a chubby boy.
I wore a crimson frock, white drawers,
A belt, a crown was on it;
She wore some angel's kind of dress
And such a tiny bonnet,
Old-fashioned, but the soft brown hair Would never keep its place;
A little maid with violet eyes,
And sunshine in her face.
O my child-queen, in those lost days
How sweet was daily living!
How humble and how proud I grew,
How rich by merely giving!
She went to school, the parlour-maid
Leonardo's 'Monna Lisa'
MAKE thyself known, Sibyl, or let despair
Of knowing thee be absolute; I wait
Hour-long and waste a soul. What word of fate
Hides 'twixt the lips which smile and still forbear?
Secret perfection! Mystery too fair!
Tangle the sense no more lest I should hate
Thy delicate tyranny, the inviolate
Poise of thy folded hands, thy fallen hair.
Nay, nay,--I wrong thee with rough words; still be