A writer who wore several hats throughout his career, Alfred Austin was a critic, novelist and political journalist. Although he was educated in law, his professional life focused primarily on literature. Austin published regularly for half a century and succeeded Alfred, Lord Tennyson as poet laureate of England in 1896. Nonetheless, he carries the reputation of having been the worst and least read English poet.
Austin was born on May 30, 1835, in Headingley, near Leeds, to Roman Catholic parents Joseph and Mary Austin. His father was a merchant and a magistrate of Headingley and his mother was the sister of Joseph Locke, a member of Parliament and a civil engineer. He was ... more »
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Alfred Austin Poems
Now do I know that Love is blind, for I Can see no beauty on this beauteous earth, No life, no light, no hopefulness, no mirth, Pleasure nor purpose, when thou art not nigh.
A Last Request
Let not the roses lie Too thickly tangled round my tomb, Lest fleecy clouds that skim the summer sky,
A Night In June
Lady! in this night of June Fair like thee and holy, Art thou gazing at the moon That is rising slowly?
Should fickle hands in far-off days No longer stroke thy hair, And lips that once were proud to praise Forget to call thee fair,
A November Note
Why, throstle, do you sing In this November haze? Singing for what? for whom? Deem you that it is Spring,
Free Will And Fate
`You ask me why I envy not The Monarch on his throne. It is that I myself have got A Kingdom of my own:
Good-bye, old year, good-bye! Gentle you were to many as to me, And so we, meditating, sigh,
Is Life Worth Living?
Is life worth living? Yes, so long As Spring revives the year, And hails us with the cuckoo's song,
A Defence Of English Spring
Unnamed, unknown, but surely bred Where Thames, once silver, now runs lead, Whose journeys daily ebb and flow 'Twixt Tyburn and the bells of Bow,
When friends grown faithless, or the fickle throng, Withdrawing from my life the love they lent, Breed in my heart disdainful discontent,
A Farewell To Youth
Ere that I say farewell to youth, and take The homely road that leads to life's decline, Let me be sure again I shall not pine
SHE wanders in the April woods, That glisten with the fallen shower; She leans her face against the buds, She stops, she stoops, she plucks a flower.
A Dream Of England
I had a dream of England. Wild and weird, The billows ravened round her, and the wrack, Darkening and dwindling, blotted out the track,
The love within my heart that dwells Knows nought of days or hours; I hear thee in the Christmas bells,
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Now do I know that Love is blind, for I
Can see no beauty on this beauteous earth,
No life, no light, no hopefulness, no mirth,
Pleasure nor purpose, when thou art not nigh.
Thy absence exiles sunshine from the sky,
Seres Spring's maturity, checks Summer's birth,
Leaves linnet's pipe as sad as plover's cry,
And makes me in abundance find but dearth.
But when thy feet flutter the dark, and thou
With orient eyes dawnest on my distress,
Suddenly sings a bird on every bough,
The heavens expand, the earth grows less and less,
The ground is buoyant as ...