The Poems and Prose of Ernest Dowson, With a Memoir by Arthur Symons Part 4

Forget to-morrow!

Weep nothing: only lay In silent sorrow Thine head my way: Let us forget to-morrow, This one day!

_Ah, dans ces mornes sejours Les jamais sont les toujours_ PAUL VERLAINE

You would have understood me, had you waited; I could have loved you, dear! as well as he: Had we not been impatient, dear! and fated Always to disagree.

What is the use of speech? Silence were fitter: Lest we should still be wis.h.i.+ng things unsaid.

Though all the words we ever spake were bitter, Shall I reproach you dead?

Nay, let this earth, your portion, likewise cover All the old anger, setting us apart: Always, in all, in truth was I your lover; Always, I held your heart.

I have met other women who were tender, As you were cold, dear! with a grace as rare.

Think you, I turned to them, or made surrender, I who had found you fair?

Had we been patient, dear! ah, had you waited, I had fought death for you, better than he: But from the very first, dear! we were fated Always to disagree.

Late, late, I come to you, now death discloses Love that in life was not to be our part: On your low lying mound between the roses, Sadly I cast my heart.

I would not waken you: nay! this is fitter; Death and the darkness give you unto me; Here we who loved so, were so cold and bitter, Hardly can disagree.

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 s.h.i.+ne of the sun, We were twined together, joined lips, forgot How the shadows fall when the 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 lips for the last time, go our way, With a sigh, a smile?

VAIN HOPE

Sometimes, to solace my sad heart, I say, Though late it be, though lily-time be past, Though all the summer skies be overcast, Haply I will go down to her, some day, And cast my rests of life before her feet, That she may have her will of me, being so sweet And none gainsay!

So might she look on me with pitying eyes, And lay calm hands of healing on my head: "_Because of thy long pains be comforted; For I, even I, am Love: sad soul, arise!_"

So, for her graciousness, I might at last Gaze on the very face of Love, and hold Him fast In no disguise.

Haply, I said, she will take pity on me, Though late I come, long after lily-time, With burden of waste days and drifted rhyme: Her kind, calm eyes, down drooping maidenly, Shall change, grow soft: there yet is time, meseems, I said, for solace; though I know these things are dreams And may not be!

VAIN RESOLVES

I said: "There is an end of my desire: Now have I sown, and I have harvested, And these are ashes of an ancient fire, Which, verily, shall not be quickened.

Now will I take me to a place of peace, Forget mine heart's desire; In solitude and prayer, work out my soul's release.

"I shall forget her eyes, how cold they were; Forget her voice, how soft it was and low, With all my singing that she did not hear, And all my service that she did not know.

I shall not hold the merest memory Of any days that were, Within those solitudes where I will fasten me."

And once she pa.s.sed, and once she raised her eyes, And smiled for courtesy, and nothing said: And suddenly the old flame did uprise, And all my dead desire was quickened.

Yea! as it hath been, it shall ever be, Most pa.s.sionless, pure eyes!

Which never shall grow soft, nor change, nor pity me.

A REQUIEM

Neobule, being tired, Far too tired to laugh or weep, From the hours, rosy and gray, Hid her golden face away.

Neobule, fain of sleep, Slept at last as she desired!

Neobule! is it well, That you haunt the hollow lands, Where the poor, dead people stray, Ghostly, pitiful and gray, Plucking, with their spectral hands, Scentless blooms of asphodel?

Neobule, tired to death Of the flowers that I threw On her flower-like, fair feet, Sighed for blossoms not so sweet, Lunar roses pale and blue, Lilies of the world beneath.

Neobule! ah, too tired Of the dreams and days above!

Where the poor, dead people stray, Ghostly, pitiful and gray, Out of life and out of love, Sleeps the sleep which she desired.

BEATA SOLITUDO

What land of Silence, Where pale stars s.h.i.+ne On apple-blossom And dew-drenched vine, Is yours and mine?

The silent valley That we will find, Where all the voices Of humankind Are left behind.

There all forgetting, Forgotten quite, We will repose us, With our delight Hid out of sight.

The world forsaken, And out of mind Honour and labour, We shall not find The stars unkind.

And men shall travail, And laugh and weep; But we have vistas Of G.o.ds asleep, With dreams as deep.

A land of Silence, Where pale stars s.h.i.+ne On apple-blossoms And dew-drenched vine, Be yours and mine!

TERRE PROMISE

Even now the fragrant darkness of her hair Had brushed my cheek; and once, in pa.s.sing by, Her hand upon my hand lay tranquilly: What things unspoken trembled in the air!

Always I know, how little severs me From mine heart's country, that is yet so far; And must I lean and long across a bar, That half a word would shatter utterly?

Ah might it be, that just by touch of hand, Or speaking silence, shall the barrier fall; And she shall pa.s.s, with no vain words at all, But droop into mine arms, and understand!

AUTUMNAL

Pale amber sunlight falls across The reddening October trees, That hardly sway before a breeze As soft as summer: summer's loss Seems little, dear! on days like these.

Let misty autumn be our part!

The twilight of the year is sweet: Where shadow and the darkness meet Our love, a twilight of the heart Eludes a little time's deceit.