Ernest Christopher Dowson

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

Ernest Christopher Dowson Poems

1. Terre Promise 4/19/2010
2. Saint Germain-En-Laye 4/19/2010
3. Vanitas 4/19/2010
4. Quid Non Supremus, Amantes? 4/19/2010
5. Transition 4/19/2010
6. Venite Descendamus 4/19/2010
7. In Spring 4/19/2010
8. Flos Lunae 4/19/2010
9. Villanelle Of Marguerite's 4/19/2010
10. To William Theodore Peters On His Renaissance Cloak 4/19/2010
11. Extreme Unction 4/19/2010
12. My Lady April 4/19/2010
13. Sapientia Lunae 4/19/2010
14. Soli Cantare Periti Arcades 4/19/2010
15. Vain Hope 4/19/2010
16. Seraphita 4/19/2010
17. Villanelle Of Acheron 4/19/2010
18. The Sea-Change 4/19/2010
19. The Dead Child 4/19/2010
20. Villanelle Of His Lady’s Treasures 4/19/2010
21. Exile 4/19/2010
22. The Three Witches 4/19/2010
23. Villanelle Of Sunset 4/19/2010
24. Rondeau 4/19/2010
25. Moritura 4/19/2010
26. Vesperal 4/19/2010
27. To His Mistress 4/19/2010
28. To A Lost Love 4/19/2010
29. Impentitent Ultima 4/19/2010
30. On The Birth Of A Friend's Child 4/19/2010
31. Villanelle 1/3/2003
32. Libera Me 4/19/2010
33. A Valediction 4/19/2010
34. Carthusians 4/19/2010
35. Breton Afternoon 4/19/2010
36. After Paul Verlaine-Iii 4/19/2010
37. Dregs 4/19/2010
38. Benedictio Domini 4/19/2010
39. Ad Manus Puellae 4/19/2010
40. De Amore 4/19/2010
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

Epigram

Because I am idolotrous and have besought
With grievous supplication and consuming prayer,
The admirable image that my love has wrought
Out of her swan's neck and her dark, abundant hair:
The jealous gods who brook no worship save their own,
Turned my live idol marble and her heart to stone.

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