Poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson

To a Lady Asking Foolish Questions

Why am I sorry, Chloe? Because the moon is far:
And who am I to be straitened in a little earthly star?

Because thy face is fair? And what if it had not been,
The fairest face of all is the face I have not seen.

Because the land is cold, and however I scheme and plot,
I cannot find a ferry to the land where I am not.

Because thy lips are red and thy breasts upbraid the snow?
(There is neither white nor red in the pleasance where I go.)

Because thy lips grow pale and thy breasts grow dun and fall?
I go where the wind blows, Chloe, and am not sorry at all.

1. Terre Promise
2. Quid Non Supremus, Amantes?
3. Carthusians
4. Villanelle of Sunset
5. In a Breton Cemetery

Print

1576 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version