Ernest Christopher Dowson

Beyond the need of weeping,
Beyond the reach of hands,
May she be quietly sleeping,
In what dim nebulous lands?…

If we must part,
Then let it be like this.
Not heart on heart,
Nor with the useless anguish of a kiss;…

Where river and ocean meet in a great tempestuous frown,
Beyond the bar, where 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…

Upon the eyes, the lips, the feet,
On all the passages of sense,
The atoning oil is spread with sweet
Renewal of lost innocence.The feet, that lately ran so fast…

(For Henry Davray)With delicate, mad hands, behind his sordid bars,
Surely he hath his posies, which they tear and twine;
Those scentless wisps of straw , that miserably line
His strait, caged universe, whereat the dull world stares,Pedant and pitiful. O, how his rapt gaze wars…

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;…

Леди сердца моего,
Любованья счастье!
Пусть продлится волшебство,
Что не станет страстью.Я дитя в тебе любил,…

Strange grows the river on the sunless evenings!
The river comforts me, grown spectral, vague and dumb:
Long was the day; at last the consoling shadows come:
"Sufficient for the day are the day's evil things!"Labour and longing and despair the long day brings;…

Pale amber sunlight falls across
The reddening October trees,
That hardly sway before a breeze
As soft as summer: summer's loss…

They sleep well here,
These fisher-folk who passed their anxious days
In fierce Atlantic ways;
And found not there,…

Come not before me now, O visionary face!
Me tempest-tost, and borne along life's passionate sea;
Troublous and dark and stormy though my passage be;
Not here and now may we commingle or embrace,…

Even now the fragrant darkness of her hair
Had brushed my cheek; and once, in passing by,
Her hand upon my hand lay tranquilly:
What things unspoken trembled in the air!Always I know, how little severs me…

Подобьем бледным янтаря
Лучи на рыжий пламень пали
Деревьев, что под бриз печали,
В деньки златые октября,…

Sleep! Cast thy canopy
Over this sleeper's brain,
Dim grow his memory,
When he wake again.Love stays a summer night,…

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…

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,…

What is Love?
Is it a folly,
Is it mirth, or melancholy?
Joys above,…

О чем грущу я, Хлоя, под полною луной?
О том, что слишком тесно мне на звездочке земной.О том, что ты прекрасна? Да будь невзрачна ты -
Сильней всего пленяют незримые черты.О том, что мертвый холод сковал мои пути,
И в землю ту, где нет меня, дороги не найти.О том, что ты румяна, а грудь как снег укрыл?…

Sleep on, dear, now
The last sleep and the best,
And on thy brow,
And on thy quiet breast…

Through what long heaviness, assayed in what strange fire,
Have these white monks been brought into the way of peace,
Despising the world's wisdom and the world's desire,
Which from the body of this death bring no release?Within their austere walls no voices penetrate;…

I would not alter thy cold eyes,
Nor trouble the calm fount of speech
With aught of passion or surprise.
The heart of thee I cannot reach:…

Shall one be sorrowful because of love,
Which hath no earthly crown,
Which lives and dies, unknown?
Because no words of his shall ever move…

Calm, sad, secure; behind high convent walls,
These watch the sacred lamp, these watch and pray:
And it is one with them when evening falls,
And one with them the cold return of day.These heed not time; their nights and days they make…

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 mouth like a ripe fruit!…