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

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;

[Report Error]