Henry Austin Dobson
Commonly known as Austin Dobson, was an English poet and essayist.
He was born at Plymouth, the eldest son of George Clarisse Dobson, a civil engineer, of French descent. When he was about eight, the family moved to Holyhead, and his first school was at Beaumaris in Anglesey. He was later educated at Coventry, and the Gymnase, Strasbourg. He returned at the age of sixteen with the intention of becoming a civil engineer. At the beginning of his career, he continued to study at the South Kensington School of Art, in his spare time, but without definite ambition. In December 1856 he entered the Board of Trade, gradually rising to the rank of principal in the harbour ... more »
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Henry Austin Dobson Poems
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:
Fame Is A Food That Dead Men Eat
Fame is a food that dead men eat,- I have no stomach for such meat. In little light and narrow room, They eat it in the silent tomb,
A Garden Song
HERE in this sequester'd close Bloom the hyacinth and rose, Here beside the modest stock Flaunts the flaring hollyhock;
Rose kissed me to-day. Will she kiss me tomorrow? Let it be as it may,
YES; when the ways oppose— When the hard means rebel, Fairer the work out-grows,— More potent far the spell.
I INTENDED an Ode, And it turn'd to a Sonnet It began a la mode, I intended an Ode;
A Song Of The Four Seasons
When Spring comes laughing By vale and hill, By wind-flower walking And daffodil,-
Ballad Of The Armada
King Philip had vaunted his claims; He had sworn for a year he would sack us; With an army of heathenish names
Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker, Help me sing of Knickerbocker! Boughton, had you bid me chant
In After Days
Rondeau IN after days when grasses high O'er-top the stone where I shall lie,
My Little Boy That Died
Look at his pretty face for just one minute ! His braided frock and dainty buttoned shoes, His firm-shut hand, the favorite plaything in it,
More Poets Yet!
'More Poets yet!'-I hear him say, Arming his heavy hand to slay;- 'Despite my skill and 'swashing blow,' They seem to sprout where'er I go;-
Here is this leafy place Quiet he lies, Cold, with his sightless face Turn'd to the skies:
O Fons Bandusae
O BABBLING Spring, than glass more clear, Worthy of wreath and cup sincere, To-morrow shall a kid be thine
Comments about Henry Austin Dobson
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
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 ...