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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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XVII
CARMEN PATIBULARE To H. S.

Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Crook
And the rope of the Black Election,
'Tis the faith of the Fool that a race you rule
Can never achieve perfection:
So ‘It 's O, for the time of the new Sublime
And the better than human way,
When the Rat (poor beast) shall come to his own
And the Wolf shall have his day!’

140

For Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Beam
And the power of provocation,
You have cockered the Brute with your dreadful fruit
Till your thought is mere stupration:
And ‘It 's how should we rise to be pure and wise,
And how can we choose but fall,
So long as the Hangman makes us dread,
And the Noose floats free for all?’

So Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Coign
And the trick there 's no recalling,
They will haggle and hew till they hack you through
And at last they lay you sprawling:
When ‘Hey! for the hour of the race in flower
And the long good-bye to sin!
And the fires of Hell gone out for the lack
Of the fuel to keep them in!’

But Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Bough
And the ghastly Dreams that tend you,
Your growth began with the life of Man,
And only his death can end you.
They may tug in line at your hempen twine,
They may flourish with axe and saw;
But your taproot drinks of the Sacred Springs
In the living rock of Law.

And Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Fork,
When the spent sun reels and blunders
Down a welkin lit with the flare of the Pit
As it seethes in spate and thunders,

141

Stern on the glare of the tortured air
Your lines august shall gloom,
And your master-beam be the last thing whelmed
In the ruining roar of Doom.