William Ernest Henley Poems

Take, dear, my little sheaf of songs,
For, old or new,
All that is good in them belongs
Only to you;
...

The Past was goodly once, and yet, when all is said,
The best of it we know is that it's done and dead.
...

O, the fun, the fun and frolic
That The Wind that Shakes the Barley
Scatters through a penny-whistle
Tickled with artistic fingers!
...

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,
...

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
...

Gold or silver, every day,
Dies to gray.
There are knots in every skein.
Hours of work and hours of play
...

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.
...

The sea is full of wandering foam,
The sky of driving cloud;
My restless thoughts among them roam . . .
The night is dark and loud.
...

Fill a glass with golden wine,
And the while your lips are wet
Set your perfume unto mine,
And forget.
...