Henry Austin Dobson

(18 January 1840 – 2 September 1921 / Plymouth)

Henry Austin Dobson Poems

1. A Dead Letter 4/14/2010
2. A Familiar Epistle 4/14/2010
3. A Gage D’amour 4/14/2010
4. A Garden Song 1/4/2003
5. A Kiss 4/14/2010
6. A Miltonic Exercise 1/18/2012
7. A Pepys' 'Diary' 1/18/2012
8. A Persian Apologue 4/14/2010
9. A Pleasant Invective Against Printing 1/18/2012
10. A Rondeau To Ethel 4/14/2010
11. A Song Of The Four Seasons 4/14/2010
12. A Song Of The Greenaway Child 1/18/2012
13. A Welcome From The 'Johnson Club' 1/18/2012
14. An Epistle To An Editor 1/18/2012
15. Ars Victrix 4/14/2010
16. Ballad Of The Armada 4/14/2010
17. Before Sedan 4/14/2010
18. Fame Is A Food That Dead Men Eat 4/14/2010
19. For A Copy Of Theocritus 4/14/2010
20. In After Days 1/4/2003
21. Incognita 3/16/2003
22. Knickerbocker 4/14/2010
23. More Poets Yet! 4/14/2010
24. My Little Boy That Died 4/14/2010
25. O Fons Bandusae 4/14/2010
26. On A Fan That Belonged To The Marquise De Pompadour 4/14/2010
27. On A Nankin Plate 4/14/2010
28. On The Future Of Poetry 4/14/2010
29. On The Hurry Of This Time 4/14/2010
30. Rondeau 4/14/2010
31. Rose Leaves 4/14/2010
32. The Ballad[e] Of Imitation 4/14/2010
33. The Ballad[e] Of The Bore 4/14/2010
34. The Cradle 4/14/2010
35. The Dance Of Death 4/14/2010
36. The Forgotten Grave 4/14/2010
37. The Friend Of Humanity And The Rhymer 1/18/2012
38. The Happy Printer 1/18/2012
39. The Ladies Of St. James’s 4/14/2010
40. The Last Proof 1/18/2012
Best Poem of Henry Austin Dobson

Incognita

Just for a space I met her –
Just for a day in the train!
It began when she feared it would wet her,
That tiniest spurtle of rain:
So we tucked a great rug in the sashes,
And carefully padded the pane;
And I sorrow in sackcloth and ashes,
Longing to do it again!

Then it grew when she begged me to reach her
A dressing-case under the seat;
She was “really so tiny a creature,
That she needed a stool for her feet.! ”
Which was promptly arranged to her order
With a care that was even minute,
And a glimpse – of an open- worked ...

Read the full of Incognita

Incognita

Just for a space I met her –
Just for a day in the train!
It began when she feared it would wet her,
That tiniest spurtle of rain:
So we tucked a great rug in the sashes,
And carefully padded the pane;
And I sorrow in sackcloth and ashes,
Longing to do it again!

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