Lord Alfred Douglas
Biography of Lord Alfred Douglas
Lord Alfred Douglas is remembered today for his tumultuous association with Oscar Wilde and as a minor poet.
Douglas, universally known as Bosie, was born October 22, 1870, the third son of John Sholto Douglas, ninth Marquess of Queensberry, and Sibyl, née Montgomery.
After a boyhood during which his parents separated, Douglas went up from Winchester to Magdalen College, Oxford, in 1889. He met Oscar Wilde through a mutual friend in early summer, 1891, and they became lovers the following spring. Douglas's beauty was "like a narcissus--white and gold," as Wilde told Robert Ross.
Most of Douglas's homoerotic poetry was written between 1893 and 1896 and appeared in undergraduate literary journals such as The Spirit Lamp, which he edited, and The Chameleon, or in small-circulation magazines like The Artist. Poems like "Hymn to Physical Beauty" (with a nod to Shelley), the sonnet "In an Aegean Port," and most famously "Two Loves," one of whom concludes the poem by sighing "I am the Love that dare not speak its name" are typical in their wistful tone.
Some of these poems appeared in a French edition of Douglas's verse in 1896, but most were not republished until the Sonnets and Lyrics of 1935, and then, at least in the sonnet mentioned, with the homosexual content revised out.
In 1895, Douglas's father accused Oscar Wilde of "posing as a sodomite," whereupon Wilde (at Bosie's urging) sued him for libel. At the trial, Queensberry was found not guilty and a warrant was promptly issued for Wilde's arrest. His first trial resulted in a hung jury, but at the second Wilde was found guilty and sentenced to two years' hard labor.
Although Douglas and Wilde remained close until the latter's death in 1900, the scandal generated a sheaf of spiteful documents. In prison, Wilde wrote a long and bitter epistle later titled De Profundis, accusing Douglas of betraying their friendship. When the full text of De Profundis was made public in 1913, Douglas responded with Oscar Wilde and Myself, repudiating Wilde and his works.
Soon after Wilde's death, Douglas renounced his homosexuality; he married Olive Custance in 1902, and they had a son, Raymond. Douglas converted to Roman Catholicism in 1911, and he and his wife separated two years later. By his own account, Douglas remained celibate thereafter.
From 1907 to 1910, Douglas edited the journal The Academy, assisted by the obnoxious T. W. H. Crosland, who in fact, ghost-wrote most of Oscar Wilde and Myself. Douglas revived The Academy in 1920 and 1921 as Plain English, and the journal had a mild commercial success. Editorially, however, it was nonliterary and virulently antisemitic, simply a forum for Douglas's considerable collection of bigotries.
Douglas's intemperate expression of his views led to his arrest and conviction for writing and publishing a pamphlet libeling Winston Churchill. He spent six months in Wormwood Scrubs prison. There he turned again to poetry, but his prison writing, a sonnet sequence, was called In Excelsis.
Douglas spent the remaining twenty-one years of his life quietly, living in Hove or Brighton on allowances provided by his mother and wife. He produced his Autobiography during this time, several versions of his collected poems, occasional verse, and in 1940, his most judicious account of his life's central experience, Oscar Wilde: A Summing Up.
This page is based on the copyrighted Wikipedia Lord Alfred Douglas; it is used under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. You may redistribute it, verbatim or modified, providing that you comply with the terms of the CC-BY-SA.
Lord Alfred Douglas Poems
The Green River
I know a green grass path that leaves the field, And like a running river, winds along Into a leafy wood where is no throng Of birds at noon-day, and no soft throats yield
I have been through the woods to-day And the leaves were falling, Summer had crept away, And the birds were not calling.
The Dead Poet
I dreamed of him last night, I saw his face All radiant and unshadowed of distress, And as of old, in music measureless, I heard his golden voice and marked him trace
Alas ! I have lost my God, My beautiful God Apollo. Wherever his footsteps trod My feet were wont to follow.
The City Of The Soul: Ii
What shall we do, my soul, to please the King? Seeing he hath no pleasure in the dance, And hath condemned the honeyed utterance Of silver flutes and mouths made round to sing.
Not All The Singers Of A Thousand Years
Not all the singers of a thousand years Can open English prisons. No. Though hell Opened for Tracian Orpheus, now the spell Of song and art is powerless as the tears
Wake up again, sad heart, wake up again ! (I heard the birds this morning singing sweet.)
Alas! and oh that Spring should come again Upon the soft wings of desired days, And bring with her no anodyne to pain,
Often the western wind has sung to me, There have been voices in the streams and meres, And pitiful trees have told me, God, of Thee :
In Memoriam : Francis Archibald Douglas
Dear friend, dear brother, I have owed you this Since many days, the tribute of a song. Shall I cheat you who never did a wrong
Impression De Nuit ( London )
See what a mass of gems the city wears Upon her broad live bosom! row on row Rubies and emeralds and amethysts glow. See! that huge circle like a necklace, stares
Mere des souvenirs, mattresses des mattresses Mother of Memories! O mistress-queen ! Oh ! all my joy and all my duty thou !
Sonnet On The Sonnet
To see the moment holds a madrigal, To find some cloistered place, some hermitage For free devices, some deliberate cage Wherein to keep wild thoughts like birds in thrall;
The Travelling Companion
Into the silence of the empty night I went, and took my scorned heart with me, And all the thousand eyes of heaven were bright;
The Green River
I know a green grass path that leaves the field,
And like a running river, winds along
Into a leafy wood where is no throng
Of birds at noon-day, and no soft throats yield
Their music to the moon. The place is sealed,
An unclaimed sovereignty of voiceless song,
And all the unravished silences belong
To some sweet singer lost or unrevealed.
So is my soul become a silent place.