Ernest Christopher Dowson
Ernest Christopher Dowson was an English poet, novelist and short-story writer, often associated with the Decadent movement.
Ernest Dowson was born in Lee, London, in 1867. His great-uncle was Alfred Domett, a poet and politician who became Premier of New Zealand and had allegedly been the subject of Robert Browning's poem "Waring". Dowson attended The Queen's College, Oxford, but left in March 1888 before obtaining a degree.
In November 1888, he started work with his father at Dowson and Son, a dry-docking business in Limehouse, east London, which had been established by the poet's grandfather. He led an active social life, carousing with medical students and... more »
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Ernest Christopher Dowson Poems
We have walked in Love's land a little way, We have learnt his lesson a little while, And shall we not part at the end of day, With a sigh, a smile?
Non Sum Qualis eram Bonae Sub Regno Cyna...
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
A Last Word
Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; The day is overworn, the birds all flown; And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown; Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land,
Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incoha...
They are not long, the weeping and the laughter, Love and desire and hate: I think they have no portion in us after We pass the gate.
Beyond the pale of memory, In some mysterious dusky grove; A place of shadows utterly, Where never coos the turtle-dove,
What Is Love?
What is Love? Is it a folly, Is it mirth, or melancholy? Joys above,
Ad Domnulam Suam
Little lady of my heart ! Just a little longer, Love me: we will pass and part, Ere this love grow stronger.
O Mors! Quam Amara Est Memoria Tua Homin...
Exceeding sorrow Consumeth my sad heart! Because to-morrow We must depart,
If we must part
If we must part, Then let it be like this. Not heart on heart, Nor with the useless anguish of a kiss;
A Song of the setting sun
A song of the setting sun! The sky in the west is red, And the day is all but done; While yonder up overhead,
Love's aftermath! I think the time is now That we must gather in, alone, apart The saddest crop of all the crops that grow, Love's aftermath.
(For Arthur Symons) I was not sorrowful, I could not weep, And all my memories were put to sleep.
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Pale amber sunlight falls across The reddening October trees, That hardly sway before a breeze As soft as summer: summer's loss
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We have walked in Love's land a little way,
We have learnt his lesson a little while,
And shall we not part at the end of day,
With a sigh, a smile?
A little while in the shine of the sun,
We were twined together, joined lips forgot
How the shadows fall when day is done,
And when Love is not.
We have made no vows - there will none be broke,
Our love was free as the wind on the hill,
There was no word said we need wish unspoke,
We have wrought no ill.
So shall we not part at the end of day,
Who have loved and lingered a little while,