(For Arthur Symons) 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 Christopher Dowson’s other poems:
- Villanelle of Marguerite’s
- Soli Cantare Periti Arcades
- Quid Non Supremus, Amantes?
- Vain Resolves
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