William Cosmo Monkhouse (1840 - 1901 / England)
Biography of William Cosmo Monkhouse
William cosmo Monkhouse was born In London on 18th March 1840.
In 1870-1871 he visited South America in connection with the hospital accommodation for seamen at Valparaiso and, other ports; and he served on different departmental committees, notably that of the Mercantile Marine Fund. He was twice married: first, to Laura, and, secondly, to- Leonora Eliza, He died in London on the 20th of July 1901.William Monkhouse was one of those who not only had a vocation, but an avocation. His first love was poetry, and in 1865 he issued A Dream of Idleness and Other Poems, a collection strong poems coloured by his admiration for Wordsworth and Tennyson. It was marked by exceptional maturity, and scarcely received the recognition it deserved. Owing perhaps to this circumstance, it was not untill 1890 that he published Corn and Poppies, a collection which contained at least one memorable effort in the well-known Dead March. Five years later appeared a limited edition of the striking ballad of The Christ upon the Hill, illustrated with etchings by Mr William Strang. After his death the volume Pasiteles the Elder and other Poems (including The Christ upon the Hill).was published.
"As a poet, his ambition was so wide and his devotion to the art so thorough, that it is difficult not to regret the slender bulk of his legacy to posterity."
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- A Dead March
- A Song Of The Seasons
- De Libris
- Limerick: There Once Was a Girl of Lahor...
- Limerick: There Once Was an Old Man of L...
- Limerick: There Once Was an Old Monk of ...
- Limerick: There Was a Young Lady Named L...
- Limerick: There was a Young Lady of Nige...
- Limerick: There Was a Young Lady of Wilt...
- On A Young Poetess’s Grave
- Robert Buchanan
- Spring Song In The City
- The Christ upon the Hill
We Are Children
CHILDREN indeed are we—children that wait
Within a wondrous dwelling, while on high
Stretch the sad vapors and the voiceless sky;
The house is fair, yet all is desolate
Because our Father comes not; clouds of fate
Sadden above us—shivering we espy
The passing rain, the cloud before the gate,
And cry to one another, “He is nigh!”
At early morning, with a shining Face,