Poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson

Beyond

Love's aftermath! I think the time is now
That we must gather in, alone, apart
The saddest crop of all the crops that grow,
Love's aftermath.
Ah, sweet,--sweet yesterday, the tears that start
Can not put back the dial; this is, I trow,
Our harvesting! Thy kisses chill my heart,
Our lips are cold; averted eyes avow
The twilight of poor love: we can but part,
Dumbly and sadly, reaping as we sow,
Love's aftermath. 

1. To a Lady Asking Foolish Questions
2. Amor Profanus
3. Carthusians
4. On the Birth of a Friend's Child
5. Ad Manus Puellae

Rose Cooke Beyond ("The stranger wandering in the Switzer's land")

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