Henry Austin Dobson
Henry Austin Dobson Poems
|42.||In After Days||1/4/2003|
|45.||My Little Boy That Died||4/14/2010|
|46.||More Poets Yet!||4/14/2010|
|47.||A Song Of The Four Seasons||4/14/2010|
|48.||Ballad Of The Armada||4/14/2010|
|50.||A Garden Song||1/4/2003|
|52.||Fame Is A Food That Dead Men Eat||4/14/2010|
Just for a space I met her –
Just for a day in the train!
It began when she feared it would wet her,
That tiniest spurtle of rain:
So we tucked a great rug in the sashes,
And carefully padded the pane;
And I sorrow in sackcloth and ashes,
Longing to do it again!
Then it grew when she begged me to reach her
A dressing-case under the seat;
She was “really so tiny a creature,
That she needed a stool for her feet.! ”
Which was promptly arranged to her order
With a care that was even minute,
And a glimpse – of an open- worked ...
You Bid Me Try
You bid me try, blue-eyes, to write
A Rondeau. What! - forthwith? - tonight?
Reflect. Some skill I have, 'tis true; But thirteen lines! - and rimed on two! 'Refrain' as well. Ah, Hapless plight!
Still, there are five lines - ranged aright.
These Gallic bonds, I feared, would fright
My easy Muse. They did, till you - You bid me try!
That makes them eight. The port's in sight -