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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

PRÆLUDIUM

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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154

PRÆLUDIUM

[_]

Largo expressivo

In sumptuous chords, and strange,
Through rich yet poignant harmonies:
Subtle and strong browns, reds
Magnificent with death and the pride of death,
Thin, clamant greens
And delicate yellows that exhaust
The exquisite chromatics of decay:
From ruining gardens, from reluctant woods—
Dear, multitudinously reluctant woods!—
And sering margents, forced
To be lean and bare and perished grace by grace,
And flower by flower discharmed,
Comes, to a purpose none,
Not even the Scorner, which is the Fool, can blink,
The dead-march of the year.

Dead things and dying! Now the long-laboured soul
Listens, and pines. But never a note of hope
Sounds: whether in those high,
Transcending unisons of resignation
That speed the sovran sun,
As he goes southing, weakening, minishing,
Almighty in obedience; or in those
Small, sorrowful colloquies
Of bronze and russet and gold,
Colour with colour, dying things with dead,
That break along this visual orchestra:
As in that other one, the audible,
Horn answers horn, hautboy and violin

155

Talk, and the 'cello calls the clarionet
And flute, and the poor heart is glad.
There is no hope in these—only despair.

Then, destiny in act, ensues
That most tremendous passage in the score:
When hangman rains and winds have wrought
Their worst, and, the brave lights gone down,
The low strings, the brute brass, the sullen drums
Sob, grovel, and curse themselves
Silent. . . .

But on the spirit of Man
And on the heart of the World there falls
A strange, half-desperate peace:
A war-worn, militant, gray jubilance
In the unkind, implacable tyranny
Of Winter, the obscene,
Old, crapulous Regent, who in his loins—
O, who but feels he carries in his loins
The wild, sweet-blooded, wonderful harlot, Spring?