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University of Virginia Library

Poems

by William Ernest Henley

Henley, William Ernest (1849-1903)

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[Ask me not how they came]

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I.

I ENTER PATIENT

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

VIII STAFF-NURSE: OLD STYLE

IX.

IX LADY-PROBATIONER

X.

X STAFF-NURSE: NEW STYLE

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XIV AVE, CAESAR!

XV.

XV ‘THE CHIEF’

XVI.

XVI HOUSE-SURGEON

XVII.

XVIII.

XVIII CHILDREN: PRIVATE WARD

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVI ANTEROTICS

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXVIII DISCHARGED

THE SONG OF THE SWORD

ARABIAN NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS

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BALLADE OF A TOYOKUNI COLOUR-PRINT

BALLADE (DOUBLE REFRAIN) OF YOUTH AND AGE

BALLADE (DOUBLE REFRAIN) OF MIDSUMMER DAYS AND NIGHTS

BALLADE OF DEAD ACTORS

BALLADE MADE IN THE HOT WEATHER

BALLADE OF TRUISMS

DOUBLE BALLADE OF LIFE AND FATE

DOUBLE BALLADE OF THE NOTHINGNESS OF THINGS

ATTADALE, WEST HIGHLANDS

FROM A WINDOW IN PRINCES STREET

[The gods are dead? Perhaps they are! Who knows?]

[When you are old, and I am passed away—]

[Beside the idle summer sea]

I. M. R. G. C. B. 1878

[We shall surely die]

[What is to come we know not. But we know]

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I.

II.

III.

IV.

IV I. M. R. T. HAMILTON BRUCE (1846–1899)

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXVIII To S. C.

XXIX.

XXIX To R. L. S.

XXX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.

XXXIV To K. de M.

XXXV.

XXXV I. M. MARGARITÆ SORORIS (1886)

XXXVI.

XXXVII.

XXXVII To W. A.

XXXVIII.

XXXIX.

XL.

XLI.

XLI To R. A. M. S.

XLII.

XLIII.

XLIV.

XLV.

XLV To W. B. B.

XLVI.

XLVI MATRI DILECTISSIMÆ I. M.

XLVII.

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RHYMES AND RHYTHMS

I.

I To H. B. M. W.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

VIII To A. J. H.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIII To JAMES McNEILL WHISTLER

XIV.

XIV To J. A. C.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVII CARMEN PATIBULARE To H. S.

XVIII.

XVIII I. M. MARGARET EMMA HENLEY (1888–1894)

XIX.

XIX I. M. R. L. S. (1850–1894)

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXII To P. A. G.

XXIII.

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HAWTHORN AND LAVENDER

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

XXIX.

XXX.

XXXI.

XXXII.

XXXIII.

XXXIV.

XXXV.

XXXVI.

XXXVII.

XXXVIII.

XXXIX.

XL.

XLI.

XLII.

XLIII.

XLIV.

XLV.

XLVI.

XLVII.

XLVIII.

XLIX.

L.

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LONDON VOLUNTARIES

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

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I.

II.

II LIFE-GUARDSMAN

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

VIII BLUECOAT BOY

IX.

IX MOUNTED POLICE

X.

XI.

XII.

XII FLOWER-GIRL

XIII.

[The Artist muses at his ease]

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THREE PROLOGUES

I.

II.

II RICHARD SAVAGE

III.

III ADMIRAL GUINEA

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FOR ENGLAND'S SAKE

I.

II.

II THE MAN IN THE STREET

III.

III PRO REGE NOSTRO

IV.

IV THE LEVY OF SHIELDS

V.

VI.

VI A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE

VII.

VII ‘OUR CHIEF OF MEN’

VIII.

VIII ‘A HEALTH UNTO HER MAJESTY’

IX.

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IN MEMORIAM THOMAS EDWARD BROWN

IN MEMORIAM GEORGE WARRINGTON STEEVENS

IN MEMORIAM REGINAE DILECTISSIMAE VICTORIAE

A SONG OF SPEED

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[In the time of snows]

[The pretty washermaiden]

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OF THE FROWARDNESS OF WOMAN

OF ANTIQUE DANCES

OF SPRING MUSIC

OF LADIES' NAMES

[In the street of By-and-By]

[‘Felicity. Enquire within.]

[We 'll to the woods and gather may]

[My love to me is always kind]

[With strawberries we filled a tray]

[The leaves are sere, and on the ground]

MY MEERSCHAUM PIPE

PIPE OF MY SOUL

WITH A FAN FROM RIMMEL'S

VILLON'S STRAIGHT TIP TO ALL CROSS COVES

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Old friends I had a-many—kindly and grim
Familiars, cronies quaint
And goblin! Never a Wood but housed
Some morrice of dainty dapperlings. No Brook
But had his nunnery

41

Of green-haired, silvry-curving sprites,
To cabin in his grots, and pace
His lilied margents. Every lone Hillside
Might open upon Elf-Land. Every Stalk
That curled about a Bean-stick was of the breed
Of that live ladder by whose delicate rungs
You climbed beyond the clouds, and found
The Farm-House where the Ogre, gorged
And drowsy, from his great oak chair,
Among the flitches and pewters at the fire,
Called for his Faëry Harp. And in it flew,
And, perching on the kitchen table, sang
Jocund and jubilant, with a sound
Of those gay, golden-vowelled madrigals
The shy thrush at mid-May
Flutes from wet orchards flushed with the triumphing dawn;
Or blackbirds rioting as they listened still,
In old-world woodlands rapt with an old-world spring,
For Pan's own whistle, savage and rich and lewd,
And mocked him call for call!