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Breton Afternoon Post by :gail5918 Category :Poems Author :Ernest Dowson Date :October 2011 Read :1353

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Breton Afternoon

Here, where 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 I wept for a white girl's paleness passing ivory!

Out of the tumult of angry tongues, in a land alone, apart,
In a perfumed dream-land set betwixt the bounds of life and death,
Here will I lie while the clouds fly by and delve an hole where my heart
May sleep deep down with the gorse above and red, red earth beneath.

Sleep and be quiet for an afternoon, till the rose-white angelus
Softly steals my way from the village under the hill:
Mother of God, O Misericord, look down in pity on us,
The weak and blind who stand in our light and wreak ourselves such ill

(The end)
Ernest Dowson's poem: Breton Afternoon

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Silence Silence

Why should I sing of earth or heaven? not rather rest,Powerless to speak of that which hath my soul possessed,--For full possession dumb? Yea, Silence, that were best.And though for what it failed to sound I brake the string,And dashed the sweet lute down, a too much fingered thing,And found a wild new voice,--oh, still, why should I sing?An earth-song could I make, strange as the breath of earth,Filled with the great calm joy of life and death and birth?Yet, were it less than this, the song were little worth.For this the fields caress; brown clods tell each to each;Sad-colored leaves

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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,