The Poems and Prose of Ernest Dowson, With a Memoir by Arthur Symons Part 3

GROWTH

I watched the glory of her childhood change, Half-sorrowful to find the child I knew, (Loved long ago in lily-time) Become a maid, mysterious and strange, With fair, pure eyes--dear eyes, but not the eyes I knew Of old, in the olden time!

Till on my doubting soul the ancient good Of her dear childhood in the new disguise Dawned, and I hastened to adore The glory of her waking maidenhood, And found the old tenderness within her deepening eyes, But kinder than before.

AD Ma.n.u.s PUELLAE

I was always a lover of ladies' hands!

Or ever mine heart came here to tryst, For the sake of your carved white hands' commands; The tapering fingers, the dainty wrist; The hands of a girl were what I kissed.

I remember an hand like a _fleur-de-lys_ When it slid from its silken sheath, her glove; With its odours pa.s.sing ambergris: And that was the empty husk of a love.

Oh, how shall I kiss your hands enough?

They are pale with the pallor of ivories; But they blush to the tips like a curled sea-sh.e.l.l: What treasure, in kingly treasuries, Of gold, and spice for the thurible, Is sweet as her hands to h.o.a.rd and tell?

I know not the way from your finger-tips, Nor how I shall gain the higher lands, The citadel of your sacred lips: I am captive still of my pleasant bands, The hands of a girl, and most your hands.

FLOS LUNAE

I would not alter thy cold eyes, Nor trouble the calm fount of speech With aught of pa.s.sion or surprise.

The heart of thee I cannot reach: I would not alter thy cold eyes!

I would not alter thy cold eyes; Nor have thee smile, nor make thee weep: Though all my life droops down and dies, Desiring thee, desiring sleep, I would not alter thy cold eyes.

I would not alter thy cold eyes; I would not change thee if I might, To whom my prayers for incense rise, Daughter of dreams! my moon of night!

I would not alter thy cold eyes.

I would not alter thy cold eyes, With trouble of the human heart: Within their glance my spirit lies, A frozen thing, alone, apart; I would not alter thy cold eyes.

NON SUM QUALIS ERAM BONAE SUB REGNO CYNARAE

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; And I was desolate and sick of an old pa.s.sion, Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fas.h.i.+on.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat, Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay; Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet; But I was desolate and sick of an old pa.s.sion, When I awoke and found the dawn was gray: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fas.h.i.+on.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind, Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind; But I was desolate and sick of an old pa.s.sion, Yea, all the time, because the dance was long: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fas.h.i.+on.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine, But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire, Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine; And I am desolate and sick of an old pa.s.sion, Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fas.h.i.+on.

VANITAS

Beyond the need of weeping, Beyond the reach of hands, May she be quietly sleeping, In what dim nebulous lands?

Ah, she who understands!

The long, long winter weather, These many years and days, Since she, and Death, together, Left me the wearier ways: And now, these tardy bays!

The crown and victor's token: How are they worth to-day?

The one word left unspoken, It were late now to say: But cast the palm away!

For once, ah once, to meet her, Drop laurel from tired hands: Her cypress were the sweeter, In her oblivious lands: Haply she understands!

Yet, crossed that weary river, In some ulterior land, Or anywhere, or ever, Will she stretch out a hand?

And will she understand?

EXILE

By the sad waters of separation Where we have wandered by divers ways, I have but the shadow and imitation Of the old memorial days.

In music I have no consolation, No roses are pale enough for me; The sound of the waters of separation Surpa.s.seth roses and melody.

By the sad waters of separation Dimly I hear from an hidden place The sigh of mine ancient adoration: Hardly can I remember your face.

If you be dead, no proclamation Sprang to me over the waste, gray sea: Living, the waters of separation Sever for ever your soul from me.

No man knoweth our desolation; Memory pales of the old delight; While the sad waters of separation Bear us on to the ultimate night.

SPLEEN

I was not sorrowful, I could not weep, And all my memories were put to sleep.

I watched the river grow more white and strange, All day till evening I watched it change.

All day till evening I watched the rain Beat wearily upon the window pane.

I was not sorrowful, but only tired Of everything that ever I desired.

Her lips, her eyes, all day became to me The shadow of a shadow utterly.

All day mine hunger for her heart became Oblivion, until the evening came,

And left me sorrowful, inclined to weep, With all my memories that could not sleep.

O MORS! QUAM AMARA EST MEMORIA TUA HOMINI PACEM HABENTI IN SUBSTANTIIS SUIS

Exceeding sorrow Consumeth my sad heart!

Because to-morrow We must depart, Now is exceeding sorrow All my part!

Give over playing, Cast thy viol away: Merely laying Thine head my way: Prithee, give over playing, Grave or gay.

Be no word spoken; Weep nothing: let a pale Silence, unbroken Silence prevail!

Prithee, be no word spoken, Lest I fail!