Poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson

* * *

A song of the setting sun!
The sky in the west is red,
And the day is all but done;
While yonder up overhead,
All too soon,
There rises so cold the cynic moon.

A Song of a Winter day!
The wind of the north doth blow,
From a sky that's chill and gray,
On fields where no crops now grow,
Fields long shorn
Of bearded barley and golden corn.

A song of a faded flower!
'Twas plucked in the tender bud,
And fair and fresh for an hour,
In a Lady's hair it stood,
Now, ah! now,
Faded it lies in the dust and low. 

1. To a Lady Asking Foolish Questions
2. Quid Non Supremus, Amantes?
3. On the Birth of a Friend's Child
4. Villanelle of Sunset
5. Carthusians

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