Ernest Christopher Dowson

(2 August 1867 – 23 February 1900 / London / England)

Ernest Christopher Dowson Poems

1. Terre Promise 4/19/2010
2. Saint Germain-En-Laye 4/19/2010
3. Seraphita 4/19/2010
4. Vanitas 4/19/2010
5. The Dead Child 4/19/2010
6. Flos Lunae 4/19/2010
7. Moritura 4/19/2010
8. Transition 4/19/2010
9. Venite Descendamus 4/19/2010
10. In Spring 4/19/2010
11. Soli Cantare Periti Arcades 4/19/2010
12. Villanelle Of Marguerite's 4/19/2010
13. To William Theodore Peters On His Renaissance Cloak 4/19/2010
14. Extreme Unction 4/19/2010
15. My Lady April 4/19/2010
16. Sapientia Lunae 4/19/2010
17. Vain Hope 4/19/2010
18. To A Lost Love 4/19/2010
19. Rondeau 4/19/2010
20. Villanelle Of Acheron 4/19/2010
21. The Sea-Change 4/19/2010
22. Quid Non Supremus, Amantes? 4/19/2010
23. Villanelle Of His Lady’s Treasures 4/19/2010
24. Exile 4/19/2010
25. Impentitent Ultima 4/19/2010
26. Libera Me 4/19/2010
27. The Three Witches 4/19/2010
28. Villanelle Of Sunset 4/19/2010
29. Vesperal 4/19/2010
30. To His Mistress 4/19/2010
31. Villanelle 1/3/2003
32. A Valediction 4/19/2010
33. Carthusians 4/19/2010
34. On The Birth Of A Friend's Child 4/19/2010
35. Breton Afternoon 4/19/2010
36. After Paul Verlaine-Iii 4/19/2010
37. Dregs 4/19/2010
38. Benedictio Domini 4/19/2010
39. To One In Bedlam 12/31/2002
40. You Would Have Understood Me, Had You Waited 4/19/2010
Best Poem of Ernest Christopher Dowson

April Love

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,
Join ...

Read the full of April Love

Villanelle

Come hither, child, and rest,
This is the end of day,
Behold the weary West!

Sleep rounds with equal zest
Man's toil and children's play,
Come hither, child, and rest.

My white bird, seek thy nest,

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