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The Statute Of Limitations The Statute Of Limitations

The Statute Of Limitations
During five years of an almost daily association with Michael Garth, in a solitude of Chili, which threw us, men of common speech, though scarcely of common interests, largely on each other's tolerance, I had grown, if not into an intimacy with him, at least into a certain familiarity, through which the salient feature of his history, his character reached me. It was a singular character, and an history rich in instruction. So much I gathered from hints, which he let drop long before I had heard the end of it. Unsympathetic as the man was to me, it was impossible... Short Stories - Post by : Schlomo - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 2735

Souvenirs Of An Egoist Souvenirs Of An Egoist

Souvenirs Of An Egoist
Eheu fugaces! How that air carries me back, that air ground away so unmercifully, sans tune, sans time on a hopelessly discordant barrel-organ, right underneath my window. It is being bitterly execrated, I know, by the literary gentleman who lives in chambers above me, and by the convivial gentleman who has a dinner party underneath. It has certainly made it impossible for me to continue the passage in my new Fugue in A minor, which was being transferred so flowingly from my own brain on to the score when it interrupted me. But for all that, I have a shrewd suspicion... Short Stories - Post by : JPSNESPAL - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 4011

An Orchestral Violin An Orchestral Violin

An Orchestral Violin
I At my dining-place in old Soho--I call it mine because there was a time when I became somewhat inveterate there, keeping my napkin (changed once a week) in a ring recognisable by myself and the waiter, my bottle of Beaune (replenished more frequently), and my accustomed seat--at this restaurant of mine, with its confusion of tongues, its various, foreign clientele, amid all the coming and going, the nightly change of faces, there were some which remained the same, persons with whom, though one might never have spoken, one had nevertheless from the mere continuity of juxtaposition a certain sense of... Short Stories - Post by : oxfordincome - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 3608

A Case Of Conscience A Case Of Conscience

A Case Of Conscience
I It was in Brittany, and the apples were already acquiring a ruddier, autumnal tint, amid their greens and yellows, though Autumn was not yet; and the country lay very still and fair in the sunset which had befallen, softly and suddenly as is the fashion there. A man and a girl stood looking down in silence at the village, Ploumariel, from their post of vantage, half way up the hill: at its lichened church spire, dotted with little gables, like dove-cotes; at the slated roof of its market; at its quiet white houses. The man's eyes rested on it complacently,... Short Stories - Post by : 62495 - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 4192

The Diary Of A Successful Man The Diary Of A Successful Man

The Diary Of A Successful Man
1st October, 188-- Hotel du Lys, Bruges. After all, few places appeal to my imagination more potently than this autumnal old city--the most mediaeval town in Europe. I am glad that I have come back here at last. It is melancholy indeed, but then at my age one's pleasures are chiefly melancholy. One is essentially of the autumn, and it is always autumn at Bruges. I thought I had been given back my youth when I awoke this morning and heard the Carillon, chiming out, as it has done, no doubt, intermittently, since I heard it last--twenty years ago. Yes, for... Short Stories - Post by : msbarbara - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 3610

A Last Word A Last Word

A Last Word
Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; The day is overworn, the birds all flown; And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land, Broods like an owl; we cannot understand Laughter or tears, for we have only known Surpassing vanity: vain things alone Have driven our perverse and aimless band. Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold, To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust... Poems - Post by : Roy_hunter - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 3786

In Spring In Spring

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,... Poems - Post by : iwanthewarrior - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 1360

Wisdom Wisdom

Love wine and beauty and the spring, While wine is red and spring is here, And through the almond blossoms ring The dove-like voices of thy Dear. Love wine and spring and beauty while The wine hath flavour and spring masks Her treachery in so soft a smile That none may think of toil and tasks. But when spring goes on hurrying feet, Look not thy sorrow in the eyes, And bless thy freedom from thy sweet: This... Poems - Post by : TeamPalma - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 2888

To A Lost Love To A Lost Love

To A Lost Love
I seek no more to bridge the gulf that lies Betwixt our separate ways; For vainly my heart prays, Hope droops her head and dies; I see the sad, tired answer in your eyes. I did not heed, and yet the stars were clear; Dreaming that love could mate Lives grown so separate;-- But at the best, my dear, I see we should not have been very near. I knew the end before the end was nigh: The stars have... Poems - Post by : kayou - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 3785

Libera Me Libera Me

Libera Me
Goddess the laughter-loving, Aphrodite, befriend! Long have I served thine altars, serve me now at the end, Let me have peace of thee, truce of thee, golden one, send. Heart of my heart have I offered thee, pain of my pain, Yielding my life for the love of thee into thy chain; Lady and goddess be merciful, loose me again. All things I had that were fairest, my dearest and best, Fed the fierce flames on thine altar: ah, surely, my breast Shrined thee alone among goddesses, spurning the rest. Blossom of... Poems - Post by : lilac22 - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 2679

Moritura Moritura

A song of the setting sun! The sky in the west is red, And the day is all but done: While yonder up overhead, All too soon, There rises, so cold, the cynic moon. A song of a winter day! The wind of the north doth blow, From a sky that's chill and gray, On fields where no crops now grow, Fields long shorn Of bearded barley and golden corn. A song of... Poems - Post by : song_chengxiang - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 2205

Rondeau Rondeau

Ah, Manon, say, why is it we Are one and all so fain of thee? Thy rich red beauty debonnaire In very truth is not more fair, Than the shy grace and purity That clothe the maiden maidenly; Her gray eyes shine more tenderly And not less bright than thine her hair; Ah, Manon, say! Expound, I pray, the mystery Why wine-stained lip and languid eye, And most unsaintly Maenad air, Should move us more than all the rare White roses of virginity?... Poems - Post by : Irish_Friend - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 1490

To A Lady Asking Foolish Questions To A Lady Asking Foolish Questions

To A Lady Asking Foolish Questions
Why am I sorry, Chloe? Because the moon is far: And who am I to be straitened in a little earthly star? Because thy face is fair? And what if it had not been, The fairest face of all is the face I have not seen. Because the land is cold, and however I scheme and plot, I cannot find a ferry to the land where I am not. Because thy lips are red and thy breasts upbraid the snow? (There is neither white nor red in the pleasance where I go.) Because... Poems - Post by : extremeweb - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 2202

Exchanges 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... Poems - Post by : ausmm - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 2083

Transition Transition

A little while to walk with thee, dear child; To lean on thee my weak and weary head; Then evening comes: the winter sky is wild, The leafless trees are black, the leaves long dead. A little while to hold thee and to stand, By harvest-fields of bending golden corn; Then the predestined silence, and thine hand, Lost in the night, long and weary and forlorn. A little while to love thee, scarcely time To love thee well enough; then time to... Poems - Post by : imported_n/a - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 3819

Venite Descendamus Venite Descendamus

Venite Descendamus
Let be at last; give over words and sighing, Vainly were all things said: Better at last to find a place for lying, Only dead. Silence were best, with songs and sighing over; Now be the music mute; Now let the dead, red leaves of autumn cover A vain lute. Silence is best: for ever and for ever, We will go down and sleep, Somewhere beyond her ken she need never Come to weep. Let be... Poems - Post by : goldfunds - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 4075

Breton Afternoon Breton Afternoon

Breton Afternoon
Here the breath of the scented-gorse floats through the sun-stained air, On a steep hill-side, on a grassy ledge, I have lain hours long and heard Only the faint breeze pass in a whisper like a prayer, And the river ripple by and the distant call of a bird. On the lone hill-side, in the gold sunshine, I will hush me and repose, And the world fades into a dream and a spell is cast on me; And what was all the strife about, for the myrtle or the rose, And why have... Poems - Post by : gail5918 - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 1729

All That A Man May Pray (a Song) All That A Man May Pray (a Song)

All That A Man May Pray (a Song)
All that a man may pray, Have I not prayed to thee? What were praise left to say, Has not been said by me O, ma mie? Yet thine eyes and thine heart, Always were dumb to me: Only to be my part, Sorrow has come from thee, O, ma mie? Where shall I seek and hide My grief away with me? Lest my bitter tears should chide,... Poems - Post by : Scott_Shields - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 3638

Dregs Dregs

The fire is out, and spent the warmth thereof (This is the end of every song man sings!) The golden wine is drunk, the dregs remain, Bitter as wormwood and as salt as pain; And health and hope have gone the way of love Into the drear oblivion of lost things. Ghosts go along with us until the end; This was a mistress, this, perhaps, a friend. With pale, indifferent eyes, we sit and wait For the dropt curtain and the closing gate: This is the end of all the songs... Poems - Post by : Javier - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 3737

The Sea-change The Sea-change

The Sea-change
Where river and ocean meet in a great tempestuous frown, Beyond the bar on the dunes the white-capped rollers break; Above, one windmill stands forlorn on the arid, grassy down: I will set my sail on a stormy day and cross the bar and seek That I have sought and never found, the exquisite one crown, Which crowns one day with all its calm the passionate and the weak. When the mad winds are unreined, wilt thou not storm, my sea? (I have ever loved thee so, I have ever done thee wrong... Poems - Post by : deciste - Date : October 2011 - Author : Ernest Dowson - Read : 1385