Ernest Christopher Dowson

(2 August 1867 – 23 February 1900 / London / England)

Ernest Christopher Dowson Poems

41. Breton Afternoon 4/19/2010
42. Benedictio Domini 4/19/2010
43. Cease Smilng, Dear! A Little While Be Sad 4/19/2010
44. Yvonne Of Brittany 12/31/2002
45. You Would Have Understood Me, Had You Waited 4/19/2010
46. This Libation, Cupid, Take 1/3/2003
47. Dregs 4/19/2010
48. Jadis 12/31/2002
49. Exchanges 12/31/2002
50. Wisdom 4/19/2010
51. The Garden Of Shadow 1/3/2003
52. Amor Umbratilis 4/19/2010
53. After Paul Verlaine-I 4/19/2010
54. Beata Solitudo 4/19/2010
55. A Coronal 4/19/2010
56. The Moon Maiden's Song 12/31/2002
57. Who Is This Mortal 1/3/2003
58. In A Breton Cemetery 12/31/2002
59. Grey Nights 1/3/2003
60. Epigram 12/31/2002
61. Villanelle Of The Poet's Road 1/3/2003
62. To A Lady Asking Foolish Questions 4/19/2010
63. Growth 12/31/2002
64. In Tempore Senectutis 12/31/2002
65. Nuns Of The Perpetual Adoration 12/31/2002
66. Cynara 4/19/2010
67. Exile 4/19/2010
68. If We Must Part 1/3/2003
69. Spleen 1/3/2003
70. Ad Domnulam Suam 12/31/2002
71. What Is Love? 12/31/2002
72. O Mors! Quam Amara Est Memoria Tua Homini Pacem Habenti In Substantiis Suis 4/19/2010
73. A Requiem 4/19/2010
74. A Song Of The Setting Sun 1/3/2003
75. Autumnal 4/19/2010
76. Amor Profanus 5/14/2001
77. Beyond 1/3/2003
78. Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam 5/14/2001
79. A Last Word 12/31/2002
80. Non Sum Qualis Eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae 5/14/2001

Comments about Ernest Christopher Dowson

  • Bijay Kant Dubey (12/3/2018 9:16:00 PM)

    The path of life, does it go to, who to say it? What the purpose of living? What is life, what to say about it, if it is a dream lived with wine and roses? Love, desire, weeping, laughter and hate, all are for the time being and after that the things take a drastic change.The reality of life, none has known and none will be able to get at. (After reading his poem, They Are Not Long)

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  • Joe Ruane (7/30/2015 7:54:00 PM)

    ..and a posthumous Happy Birthday this coming Sunday...

  • Joe Ruane (7/30/2015 7:53:00 PM)

    i had sought out the gravesite many years ago (Plot #H-8, I believe it was) , and was, too, saddened that it had obviously been unattended for seemingly a long time; if Piecat Lady's right, I'll also be glad. I don't believe he was credited for'Days of Wine & Roses' - but could be wrong; but I'm confident Pat Boone had never heard of his April Love. I've long felt he was respected by Oscar Wilde, and their meeting in Dieppe seems to bear that out. Requiescat in Pace (from One in Bedlam) .

  • Marko Duvnjak (1/24/2015 12:42:00 AM)

    I found out about this poet because of the late great Christopher Hitchens!

  • Piecat Lady (11/23/2014 2:02:00 PM)

    Reading Dowson's touching poetry, learning of his sad life, I'm glad his grave site has been restored. Years ago, found his poem to Cynara that inspired Margaret Mitchell's title Gone With the Wind. (The movie didn't acknowledge the poem.) What a memorable paean to passion lost and time passing. Matches my earliest experiences with love. Dancing, to put thy pale lost lilies out of mind. And it never quite works.

  • Peter Kennelly (10/21/2007 3:00:00 PM)

    I stumbled across Ernest Dowson's grave,1867-1900 at Ladywell cemetry. This is in south east london se4 and is a very pretty overgrown space.

Best Poem of Ernest Christopher Dowson

April Love

We have walked in Love's land a little way,
We have learnt his lesson a little while,
And shall we not part at the end of day,
With a sigh, a smile?

A little while in the shine of the sun,
We were twined together, joined lips forgot
How the shadows fall when day is done,
And when Love is not.

We have made no vows - there will none be broke,
Our love was free as the wind on the hill,
There was no word said we need wish unspoke,
We have wrought no ill.

So shall we not part at the end of day,
Who have loved and lingered a little while,
Join ...

Read the full of April Love

Growth

I watched the glory of her childhood change,
Half-sorrowful to find the child I knew,
(Loved long ago in lily-time),
Become a maid, mysterious and strange,
With fair, pure eyes - dear eyes, but not the eyes I knew
Of old, in the olden time!

Till on my doubting soul the ancient good
Of her dear childhood in the new disguise

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