James Elroy Flecker
Biography of James Elroy Flecker
James Elroy Flecker (5 November 1884 - 3 January 1915) was an English poet, novelist and playwright. As a poet he was most influenced by the Parnassian poets.
He was born in London, and baptised Herman Elroy Flecker, later choosing to use the first name "James", either because he disliked the name "Herman" or to avoid confusion with his father. "Roy", as he was known to his family, was educated at Dean Close School, Cheltenham, where his father was headmaster, and Uppingham School. He studied at Trinity College, Oxford, and Caius College, Cambridge. While at Oxford he was greatly influenced by the last flowering of the Aesthetic movement there, under John Addington Symonds. From 1910 he was in the consular service, in the Eastern Mediterranean. He met Helle Skiadaressi on a ship to Athens, and married her in 1911. His most widely known poem is "To a poet a thousand years hence". The most enduring testimony to his work is perhaps an excerpt from "The Golden Journey to Samarkand" inscribed on the clock tower of the barracks of the British Army's 22 Special Air Service regiment in Hereford: "We are the Pilgrims, master; we shall go Always a little further; it may be Beyond that last blue mountain barred with snow Across that angry or that glimmering sea".
He died of tuberculosis in Davos, Switzerland. His death at the age of thirty was described at the time as "unquestionably the greatest premature loss that English literature has suffered since the death of Keats".
His poem "The Bridge of Fire" is featured in Neil Gaiman's Sandman series, in the volume The Wake. A quatrain from his poem "To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence" is quoted by Jorge Luis Borges in his essay Note on Walt Whitman (to be found in the collection Other Inquisitions, 1937-1952):
O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
student of our sweet English tongue,
read out my words at night, alone:
I was a poet, I was young.
James Elroy Flecker Poems
The Golden Journey To Samarkand
We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die, We Poets of the proud old lineage Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why, -
To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence
I who am dead a thousand years, And wrote this sweet archaic song, Send you my words for messengers The way I shall not pass along.
The Old Ships
I have seen old ships like swans asleep Beyond the village which men call Tyre, With leaden age o'ercargoed, dipping deep For Famagusta and the hidden sun
The Gates Of Damascus
Four great gates has the city of Damascus And four Great Wardens, on their spears reclining, All day long stand like tall stone men
The War Songs Of The Saracens
We are they who come faster than fate: We are they who ride early or late: We storm at your ivory gate: Pale Kings of the Sunset, beware!
Yasmin (A Ghazel)
How splendid in the morning grows the lily: with what grace he throws His supplication to the rose: do roses nod the head, Yasmin?
A Ship, An Isle, A Sickle Moon
A Ship, an isle, a sickle moon- With few but with how splendid stars The mirrors of the sea are strewn Between their silver bars!
When the words rustle no more, And the last work's done, When the bolt lies deep in the door, And Fire, our Sun,
The Dying Patriot
DAY breaks on England down the Kentish hills, Singing in the silence of the meadow-footing rills, Day of my dreams, O day!
Smile then, children, hand in hand Bright and white as the summer snow, Or that young King of the Grecian land,
How splendid in the morning glows the lily; with what grace he throws His supplication to the rose: do roses nod the head, Yasmin?
Hialmar Speaks To The Raven: From Lecont...
Night on the bloodstained snow: the wind is chill: And there a thousand tombless warriors lie,
The Ballad Of Iskander
Aflatun and Aristu and King Iskander Are Plato, Aristotle, Alexander. Sultan Iskander sat him down On his golden throne, in his golden crown,
The Second Sonnet Of Bathrolaire
Now the sweet Dawn on brighter fields afar Has walked among the daisies, and has breathed The glory of the mountain winds, and sheathed
The Old Ships
I have seen old ships like swans asleep
Beyond the village which men call Tyre,
With leaden age o'ercargoed, dipping deep
For Famagusta and the hidden sun
That rings black Cyprus with a lake of fire;
And all those ships were certainly so old
Who knows how oft with squat and noisy gun,
Questing brown slaves or Syrian oranges,
The pirate Genoese