Lord Dunsany
Lord Dunsany Poems
The ebb came
And I saw the dead eyes of the houses
And the jealousy of other forgotten things
That storm had not carried thence.
...
Night falls on the lone
Sahara, and spark by spark
Arabs I have not known
Light fires in the dark.
...
I.
There is no wrath in the stars,
They do not rage in the sky;
I look from the evil wood
And find myself wondering why.
...
I watch the doctors walking with the nurses to and fro
And i hear them softly talking in the garden where they go,
But i envy not their learning, nor their right of walking free,
For the emperor of Tartary has died for love of me.
...
Not in the stone you smashed dwelt memory,
And not in stone are the Canadian dead
Immortal, but in hearts where they were bred
And in the country that they fought to free.
...
I cannot see the end: I cannot see
When we will win or how. That being so
Let us go on, without attempt to know
In what month or what year that end will be.
...
When smoke into aether went,
And dust along the highway whirled
With breezes from the downs of Kent,
And mists about the houses curled,
...
Lord Dunsany Biography
Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett, 18th Baron of Dunsany (24 July 1878 – 25 October 1957) was an Irish writer and dramatist, notable for his work, mostly in fantasy, published under the name Lord Dunsany. More than eighty books of his work were published, and his oeuvre includes many hundreds of published short stories, as well as successful plays, novels and essays. Born to the second-oldest title (created 1439) in the Irish peerage, Dunsany lived much of his life at perhaps Ireland's longest-inhabited home, Dunsany Castle near Tara, worked with W.B. Yeats and Lady Gregory, received an honorary doctorate from Trinity College, was chess and pistol-shooting champion of Ireland, and travelled and hunted extensively. He died in Dublin after an attack of appendicitis.)
The Best Poem Of Lord Dunsany
Where The Tides Ebb And Flow
The ebb came
And I saw the dead eyes of the houses
And the jealousy of other forgotten things
That storm had not carried thence.
And some more centuries passed over the ebb and flow
And over the loneliness of things forgotten.
And I lay there all the while
In the careless grip of the mud,
Never wholly covered,
Yet never able to go free,
And I longed for the great caress of the warm Earth
Or the comfortable lap of the Sea.
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