Sir William Watson (1858 – 1935), was an English poet, popular in his time for the political content of his verse. He was born in Burley, in West Yorkshire.
He was very much on the traditionalist wing of English poetry. He was a prolific poet of the 1890s, and a contributor to The Yellow Book, without 'decadent' associations. He was also a defender of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, as he dropped out of fashion. On Tennyson's death, Watson was a strong candidate for Poet Laureate but his earlier opposition to the Boer War had made him politically unsuitable and he was passed over for Alfred Austin. more »
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William Watson Poems
APRIL, April, Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears!
England and Her Colonies
SHE stands, a thousand-wintered tree, By countless morns impearled; Her broad roots coil beneath the sea, Her branches sweep the world;
April, April, Laugh thy girlish laughter; Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears!
A Child's Hair
A letter from abroad. I tear Its sheathing open, unaware What treasure gleams within; and there-
Last night the seawind was to me A metaphor of liberty, And every wave along the beach A starlit music seemed to be.
Westward a league the city lay, with one Cloud's imminent umbrage o'er it: when behold, The incendiary sun
Thou burden of all songs the earth hath sung, Thou retrospect in Time's reverted eyes, Thou metaphor of everything that dies,
A Golden Hour
A beckoning spirit of gladness seemed afloat, That lightly danced in laughing air before us:
The Great Misgiving
'NOT ours,' say some, 'the thought of death to dread; Asking no heaven, we fear no fabled hell: Life is a feast, and we have banqueted-- Shall not the worms as well?
England My Mother
I England my mother, Wardress of waters.
Seven moons, new moons, had eastward set their horns Averted from the sun; seven moons, old moons, Westward their sun-averted horns had set;
At The Grave Of Charles Lamb, In Edmonto...
Not here, O teeming City, was it meet Thy lover, thy most faithful, should repose, But where the multitudinous life-tide flows
That beauty such as thine Can die indeed, Were ordinance too wantonly malign: No wit may reconcile so cold a creed
God-seeking thou hast journeyed far and nigh. On dawn-lit mountain-tops thy soul did yearn To hear His trailing garments wander by;
Comments about William Watson
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Laugh thy girlish laughter;
Then, the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears!
April, that mine ears
Like a lover greetest,
If I tell thee, sweetest,
All my hopes and fears,
Laugh thy golden laughter,
But, the moment after,
Weep thy golden tears!