Lionel Pigot Johnson
Lionel Pigot Johnson Poems
DARK Angel, with thine aching lust
To rid the world of penitence:
Malicious Angel, who still dost
My soul such subtile violence!
...
I HATE you with a necessary hate.
First, I sought patience: passionate was she:
My patience turned in very scorn of me,
...
Ah! fair face gone from sight,
With all its light
Of eyes that pierced the deep!
Oh human night!
...
A VOICE on the winds,
A voice by the waters,
Wanders and cries:
Oh! what are the winds?
...
A TERRIBLE and splendid trust,
Heartens the host of Innisfail;
Their dream is of the swift sword-thrust;
The lightning glory of the Gael.
...
Why, no Sir! If a barren rascal cries,
That he is most in love with pleasing woe,
...
GO from me: I am one of those who fall.
What! hath no cold wind swept your heart at all,
In my sad company? Before the end,
...
SUMMER lightning, and rich rain:
Roses perfume the hot air.
All the breathless night is faint,
...
To Olivier Georges Destrée
IN Merioneth, over the sad moor
Drives the rain, the cold wind blows:
...
All, that he came to give,
He gave, and went again:
I have seen one man live,
I have seen one man reign,
...
THE night is full of stars, full of magnificence:
Nightingales hold the wood, and fragrance loads the dark.
...
Sombre and rich, the skies;
Great glooms, and starry plains.
Gently the night wind sighs;
Else a vast silence reigns.
...
OVER, the four long years! And now there rings
One voice of freedom and regret: Farewell!
...
Imageries of dream reveal a gracious age:
Black armour, falling lace, and altar lights at morn.
...
I know you: solitary griefs,
Desolate passions, aching hours!
I know you: tremulous beliefs,
Agonised hopes, and ashen flowers!
...
THE mountains, and the lonely death at last
Upon the lonely mountains: O strong friend!
The wandering over, and the labour passed,
...
Lionel Pigot Johnson Biography
Lionel Pigot Johnson (15 March 1867 - 4 October 1902) was an English poet, essayist and critic. He was born at Broadstairs, and educated at Winchester College and New College, Oxford, graduating in 1890. He became a Catholic convert in 1891. He lived a rather solitary life in London, struggling with alcoholism and his repressed homosexuality.He died of a stroke after a fall in the street, though it was said to be a fall from a barstool. During his lifetime were published his The Art of Thomas Hardy (1894), Poems (1895), Ireland and Other Poems (1897). He was one of the Rhymer's Club. His poem, The Dark Angel served as one of the influences for the Dark Angels chapter of Space Marines in the Warhammer 40,000 fictional universe. Their Primarch, Lion El'Jonson, is also named after him. In 1892, Johnson converted to Catholicism. He repudiated former friend Oscar Wilde and directed a sonnet at him called "The Destroyer of a Soul" (presumably the soul of his cousin Lord Alfred Douglas, whom he had introduced to Wilde the previous June). In the following year, Johnson wrote what some consider his masterpiece, "The Dark Angel")
The Best Poem Of Lionel Pigot Johnson
The Dark Angel
DARK Angel, with thine aching lust
To rid the world of penitence:
Malicious Angel, who still dost
My soul such subtile violence!
Because of thee, no thought, no thing,
Abides for me undesecrate:
Dark Angel, ever on the wing,
Who never reachest me too late!
When music sounds, then changest thou
Its silvery to a sultry fire:
Nor will thine envious heart allow
Delight untortured by desire.
Through thee, the gracious Muses turn,
To Furies, O mine Enemy!
And all the things of beauty burn
With flames of evil ecstasy.
Because of thee, the land of dreams
Becomes a gathering place of fears:
Until tormented slumber seems
One vehemence of useless tears.
When sunlight glows upon the flowers,
Or ripples down the dancing sea:
Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers,
Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me.
Within the breath of autumn woods,
Within the winter silences:
Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods,
O Master of impieties!
The ardour of red flame is thine,
And thine the steely soul of ice:
Thou poisonest the fair design
Of nature, with unfair device.
Apples of ashes, golden bright;
Waters of bitterness, how sweet!
O banquet of a foul delight,
Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!
Thou art the whisper in the gloom,
The hinting tone, the haunting laugh:
Thou art the adorner of my tomb,
The minstrel of mine epitaph.
I fight thee, in the Holy Name!
Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith:
Tempter! should I escape thy flame,
Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death:
The second Death, that never dies,
That cannot die, when time is dead:
Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries,
Eternally uncomforted.
Dark Angel, with thine aching lust!
Of two defeats, of two despairs:
Less dread, a change to drifting dust,
Than thine eternity of cares.
Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so,
Dark Angel! triumph over me:
Lonely, unto the Lone I go;
Divine, to the Divinity.
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