William Ernest Henley Poems

Out of the poisonous East,
Over a continent of blight,
Like a maleficent Influence released
...

The skies are strown with stars,
The streets are fresh with dew
A thin moon drifts to westward,
The night is hushed and cheerful.
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Take, dear, my little sheaf of songs,
For, old or new,
All that is good in them belongs
Only to you;
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The Past was goodly once, and yet, when all is said,
The best of it we know is that it's done and dead.
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O, the fun, the fun and frolic
That The Wind that Shakes the Barley
Scatters through a penny-whistle
Tickled with artistic fingers!
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In Rotten Row a cigarette
I sat and smoked, with no regret
For all the tumult that had been.
The distances were still and green,
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O, have you blessed, behind the stars,
The blue sheen of the skies,
When June the roses round her calls? –
Then do you know the light that falls
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Gold or silver, every day,
Dies to gray.
There are knots in every skein.
Hours of work and hours of play
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As with varnish red and glistening
Dripped his hair; his feet looked rigid;
Raised, he settled stiffly sideways:
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We'll go no more a-roving by the light of the moon.
November glooms are barren beside the dusk of June.
...