Henry Austin Dobson

(18 January 1840 – 2 September 1921 / Plymouth)

Henry Austin Dobson Poems

1. A Miltonic Exercise 1/18/2012
2. The Wanderer 11/5/2015
3. A Welcome From The 'Johnson Club' 1/18/2012
4. The Sun-Dial 1/18/2012
5. An Epistle To An Editor 1/18/2012
6. When Burbadge Played 4/14/2010
7. A Familiar Epistle 4/14/2010
8. A Gage D’amour 4/14/2010
9. A Persian Apologue 4/14/2010
10. A Rondeau To Ethel 4/14/2010
11. O Fons Bandusae 4/14/2010
12. On A Nankin Plate 4/14/2010
13. The Ballad[e] Of Imitation 4/14/2010
14. The Rondeau 4/14/2010
15. To Richard Watson Gilder 4/14/2010
16. On A Fan That Belonged To The Marquise De Pompadour 4/14/2010
17. The Cradle 4/14/2010
18. The Dance Of Death 4/14/2010
19. Rondeau 4/14/2010
20. Knickerbocker 4/14/2010
21. The Passionate Printer To His Love 4/14/2010
22. The Happy Printer 1/18/2012
23. A Pleasant Invective Against Printing 1/18/2012
24. When There Is Peace 1/18/2012
25. The Last Proof 1/18/2012
26. A Pepys' 'Diary' 1/18/2012
27. A Song Of The Greenaway Child 1/18/2012
28. The Friend Of Humanity And The Rhymer 1/18/2012
29. Before Sedan 4/14/2010
30. A Dead Letter 4/14/2010
31. When This Old World Was New 4/14/2010
32. For A Copy Of Theocritus 4/14/2010
33. The Ballad[e] Of The Bore 4/14/2010
34. The Ladies Of St. James’s 4/14/2010
35. 'With Pipe And Flute' 1/18/2012
36. You Bid Me Try 4/14/2010
37. In After Days 1/4/2003
38. Urceus Exit 1/4/2003
39. More Poets Yet! 4/14/2010
40. On The Hurry Of This Time 4/14/2010
Best Poem of Henry Austin Dobson

The Paradox Of Time

Time goes, you say? Ah no!
Alas, Time stays, we go;
Or else, were this not so,
What need to chain the hours,
For Youth were always ours?
Time goes, you say?-ah no!

Ours is the eyes' deceit
Of men whose flying feet
Lead through some landscape low;
We pass, and think we see
The earth's fixed surface flee:-
Alas, Time stays,-we go!

Once in the days of old,
Your locks were curling gold,
And mine had shamed the crow.
Now, in the self-same stage,
We've reached the silver age;
Time goes, you say?-ah no!

Once, when my voice was ...

Read the full of The Paradox Of Time

In After Days

Rondeau

IN after days when grasses high
O'er-top the stone where I shall lie,
   Though ill or well the world adjust
   My slender claim to honour'd dust,
I shall not question nor reply.

I shall not see the morning sky;

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