'If we must part '

If we must part,
Then let it be like this.
Not heart on heart,
Nor with the useless anguish of a kiss;
But touch mine hand and say:
"Until to-morrow or some other day,
If we must part".

Words are so weak
When love hath been so strong;
Let silence speak:
"Life is a little while, and love is long;
A time to sow and reap,
And after harvest a long time to sleep,
But words are weak".

Ernest Dowson

'Spleen'

Around were all the roses red
The ivy all around was black.

Dear, so thou only move thine head,
Shall all mine old despairs awake!

Too blue, too tender was the sky,
The air too soft, too green the sea.

Always I fear, I know not why,
Some lamentable flight from thee.
I am so tired of holly-sprays
And weary of the bright box-tree,

Of all the endless country ways;
Of everything alas! save thee.


Ernest Dowson

'When I am old'

When I am old,
And sadly steal apart,
Into the dark and cold,
Friend of my heart!
Remember, if you can,
Not him who lingers,
But that other man,
Who loved and sang,
And had a beating heart,
When I am old!

When I am old,
And all Love’s ancient fire
Be tremulous and cold:
My soul’s desire!
Remember, if you may,
Nothing of you and me
But yesterday,
When heart on heart
We bid the years conspire
To make us old.

When I am old
And ev’ry star above
Be pitiless and cold:
My life’s one love!
Forbid me not to go:
Remember nought of us
But long ago,
And not at last,
How love and pity strove
When I grew old.

Ernest Dowson


‘Quando eu for velho’

Quando eu for velho
E tristemente posto de parte,
Na escuridão e ao frio,
Amigo do meu coração!
Lembra-te, se puderes,
Não dele que vacila,
Mas daquele outro homem
Que amava e cantava
E tinha um coração que batia,
Quando eu for velho!

Quando eu for velho,
E todo o antigo fogo do amor
Se tornar trêmulo e frio:
Meu desejo de alma!
Lembra-te, se puderes,
Nada de ti ou de mim
Senão ontem,
Quando coração no coração
Nós mandamos os anos conspirar
Para nos tornar velhos.

Quando eu for velho,
E cada estrela lá em cima
Se tornar impiedosa e fria:
Amor da minha vida!
Não me proíbas de ir:
Não te lembres de nada de nós
Senão de há muito tempo
E não por último
Como o amor e a piedade se esforçaram
Quando eu envelheci.

Ernest Dowson

A coronal

Violets and leaves of vine,
Into a frail, fair wreath
We gather and entwine:
A wreath for Love to wear,
Fragrant as his own breath,
To crown his brow divine
All day till night is near.
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.

Violets and leaves of vine
For Love, that lives a day,
We gather and entwine.
All day till Love is dead,
Till eve falls, cold and gray,
These blossoms, yours and mine,
Love wears upon his head.
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.

Violets and leaves of vine
Poor Love, when poor Love dies,
We gather and entwine.
This wreath, that lives a day,
Over his pale, cold eyes,
Kissed shut by Proserpine,
At set of sun we lay:
Violets and leaves of vine
We gather and entwine.


Ernest Dowson
(1867-1900)
from 'Verses',published 1896

'In Spring '

See how the trees and the osiers lithe
Are green bedecked and the woods are blithe,
The meadows have donned their cape of flowers,
The air is soft with the sweet May showers,
And the birds make melody:
But the spring of the soul, the spring of the soul,
Cometh no more for you or for me.

The lazy hum of the busy bees
Murmureth through the almond trees;
The jonquil flaunteth a gay, blonde head,
The primrose peeps from a mossy bed,
And the violets scent the lane.
But the flowers of the soul, the flowers of the soul,
For you and for me bloom never again.


Ernest Dowson
in 'The Poems of Ernest Dowson'

'Chanson sans Paroles'

In the deep violet air,
Not a leaf is stirred;
There is no sound heard,
But afar, the rare
Trilled voice of a bird.

Is the wood’s dim heart,
And the fragrant pine,
Incense, and a shrine
Of her coming? Apart,
I wait for a sign.

What the sudden hush said,
She will hear, and forsake,
Swift, for my sake,
Her green, grassy bed:
She will hear and awake!

She will hearken and glide,
From her place of deep rest,
Dove-eyed, with the breast
Of a dove, to my side:
The pines bow their crest.

I wait for a sign:
The leaves to be waved,
The tall tree-tops laved
In a flood of sunshine,
This world to be saved!

In the deep violet air,
Not a leaf is stirred;
There is no sound heard,
But afar, the rare
Trilled voice of a bird.

Ernest Dowson

'BEATA SOLITUDO'

What land of Silence,
Where pale stars shine
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 Gods asleep,
With dreams as deep.

A land of Silence,
Where pale stars shine
On apple-blossoms
And dew-drenched vine,
Be yours and mine!

Ernest Dowson

'THE GARDEN OF SHADOW'

Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind
Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close
Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find
One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose.

O bright, bright hair! O mount like a ripe fruit!
Can famine be so nigh to harvesting?
Love, that was songful, with a broken lute
In grass of graveyards goeth murmuring.

Let the wind blow against the perfect flowers,
And all thy garden change and glow with spring:
Love is grown blind with no more count of hours
Nor part in seed-tune nor in harvesting.


Ernest Dowson

'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.

Are we not better and at home
In dreamful Autumn, we who deem
No harvest joy is worth a dream?
A little while and night shall come,
A little while, then, let us dream.

Beyond the pearled horizons lie
Winter and night: awaiting these
We garner this poor hour of ease,
Until love turn from us and die
Beneath the drear November trees.


Ernest Dowson

"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.


Ernest Dowson

"Chanson Sans Paroles"

IN the deep violet air,
Not a leaf is stirred;
There is no sound heard,
But afar, the rare
Trilled voice of a bird.

Is the wood's dim heart,
And the fragrant pine,
Incense, and a shrine
Of her coming. Apart,
I wait for a sign.

What the sudden hush said,
She will hear, and forsake,
Swift, for my sake,
Her green, grassy bed:
She will hear and awake!

She will hearken and glide,
From her place of deep rest,
Dove-eyed, with the breast
Of a dove, to my side:
The pines bow their crest.

I wait for a sign:
The leaves to be waved,
The tall tree-tops laved
In a flood of sunshine,
This world to be saved!

In the deep violet air,
Not a leaf is stirred;
There is no sound heard,
But afar, the rare
Trilled voice of a bird.


Ernest Dowson

"Exchanges"

ALL that I had I brought,
Little enough I know;
A poor rhyme roughly wrought,
A rose to match thy snow:
All that I had I brought.

Little enough I sought:
But a word compassionate,
A passing glance, or thought,
For me outside the gate:
Little enough I sought.

Little enough I found:
All that you had, perchance!
With the dead leaves on the ground,
I dance the devil's dance.
All that you had I found.


Ernest Dowson

"THEY ARE NOT LONG"

Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam
"The brief sum of life forbids us the hope of enduring long"
(Horace)


THEY are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.


Ernest Dowson

*************

"Vida Breve"

Não são duradouros, o choro e o riso,
Amor desejo e ódio:
Penso que não fazem parte de nós depois
Que passamos o portão.

Não são duradouros, os dias do vinho e das rosas:
Saído de um sonho enevoado
O nosso caminho emerge por algum tempo, fechando-se depois
Dentro de um sonho.


Ernest Dowson (1867/1900)
In Rosa do Mundo- 2001 Poemas para o futuro

"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 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?


Ernest Dowson
(Londes 1867-1900)