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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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74

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

The gods are dead? Perhaps they are! Who knows?
Living at least in Lemprière undeleted,
The wise, the fair, the awful, the jocose,
Are one and all, I like to think, retreated
In some still land of lilacs and the rose.

Once high they sat, and high o'er earthly shows
With sacrificial dance and song were greeted.
Once . . . long ago. But now, the story goes,
The gods are dead.

It must be true. The world, a world of prose,
Full-crammed with facts, in science swathed and sheeted,
Nods in a stertorous after-dinner doze!
Plangent and sad, in every wind that blows
Who will may hear the sorry words repeated:—
‘The Gods are Dead!’