8 Quotes & Sayings By Ernest Dowson

Ernest Dowson (1867–1900) was an English poet, best known for his poem "If". He was born in London, the son of a British Army officer. He was educated at the High School in King's Lynn and Clare College, Cambridge. After graduating in 1887 he went to Paris, where he worked as a journalist for two years Read more

In 1889 he published his first volume of poetry, "Pagany", which was followed in 1892 by "The Holy War". These poems were influenced by mysticism and by what he described as his mystical experiences. He began to lose faith in Christianity and in 1893 joined the Theosophical Society. Dowson's famous poem "If" was written in 1890 while he was staying in the South of France with his friend, the painter Henry Scott Tuke.

Dowson wrote it in response to Tuke's account of a dream he had had, in which Tuke saw himself lying flat on his back gazing up at an infinite expanse of light beyond which lay nothingness. Dowson wrote that if Tuke were to lie down on to that infinite plain he would never get up again. In 1896 Dowson returned to London, where he also published "The Lost Leader" (the title refers to Judas Iscariot). In 1897 Dowson became ill with tuberculosis and died at Croydon on 6 August 1900.

His funeral service was held at Christ Church, Bloomsbury, London. Dowson left behind him a number of unfinished works, including two novels "Soliloquy" and "The Wonder House", a play "The Woman Who Loved", and many short stories. His famous poem If has been set to music by composers including Charles Villiers Stanford, Edward Elgar and Frederick Delius.

1
Ah, Lalage! while life is ours, Hoard not thy beauty rose and white, But pluck the pretty fleeing flowers That deck our little path of light: For all too soon we twain shall tread The bitter pastures of the dead: Estranged, sad spectres of the night. Ernest Dowson
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:...
2
They are not long, the days of wine and roses: Out of a misty dream Our path emerges for awhile, then closes Within a dream. Ernest Dowson
I was not sorrowful, but only tired Of everything that...
3
I was not sorrowful, but only tired Of everything that ever I desired. Ernest Dowson
4
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 passion, Yea, all the time, because the dance was long; I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. 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 passion, Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion. Ernest Dowson
5
You ask my love completest, As strong next year as now, The devil take you, sweetest, Ere I make aught such vow. Life is a masque that changes, A fig for constancy! No love at all were better, Than love which is not free. Ernest Dowson
6
When this, our rose, is faded, And these, our days, are done, In lands profoundly shaded From tempest and from sun: Ah, once more come together, Shall we forgive the past, And safe from worldly weather Possess our souls at last? Ernest Dowson
7
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