Poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson

Exile

By the sad waters of separation
Where we have wandered by divers ways,
I have but the shadow and imitation
Of the old memorial days.

In music I have no consolation,
No roses are pale enough for me;
The sound of the waters of separation
Surpasseth roses and melody.

By the sad waters of separation
Dimly I hear from an hidden place
The sigh of mine ancient adoration:
Hardly can I remember your face.

If you be dead, no proclamation
Sprang to me over the waste, gray sea:
Living, the waters of separation
Sever for ever your soul from me.

No man knoweth our desolation;
Memory pales of the old delight;
While the sad waters of separation
Bear us on to the ultimate night. 

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

Conrad Aiken Exile ("These hills are sandy. Trees are dwarfed here. Crows")

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