Ernest Dowson Quotes

“They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for awhile, then closes
Within a dream.”

— Ernest Dowson

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine ...

— Ernest Dowson

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind, Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng, Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind; But I was desolate and sick of an old passion, Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:

— Ernest Dowson

I was not sorrowful, but only tired
Of everything that ever I desired.

— Ernest Dowson

“Ah, Lalage! while life is ours,
Hoard not thy beauty rose and white,
But pluck the pretty fleeing flowers
That deck our little path of light:
For all too soon we twain shall tread
The bitter pastures of the dead:
Estranged, sad spectres of the night.”

— Ernest Dowson

“To hell with sense! We're all crazy. What do we want with sense?”

— Ernest Dowson

“Say, doth she weep for very wantonness?
Or is it that she dimly doth foresee
Across her youth the joys grow less and less
The burden of the days that are to be:
Autumn and withered leaves and vanity,
And winter bringing end in barrenness."
-from "My Lady April”

— Ernest Dowson

“Ah, God, that sweet things should decline,
And fires fade out which were not cold,"
-from "Jadis”

— Ernest Dowson

Grey Nights
A while we wandered (thus it is I dream!) Through a long, sandy track of No Man's Land, Where only poppies grew among the sand, The which we, plucking, cast with scant esteem, And ever sadlier, into the sad stream, Which followed us, as we went, hand in hand, Under the estranged stars, a road unplanned, Seeing all things in the shadow of a dream.
And ever sadlier, as the stars expired, We found the poppies rarer, till thine eyes Grown all my light, to light me were too tired, And at their darkening, that no surmise Might haunt me of the lost days we desired, After them all I flung those memories!

— Ernest Dowson

Yea! for our roses fade, the world is wild;
But there, beside the altar, there, is rest.
-from Nuns of the Perpetual Adoration

— Ernest Dowson

“You ask my love completest,
As strong next year as now,
The devil take you, sweetest,
Ere I make aught such vow.
Life is a masque that changes,
A fig for constancy!
No love at all were better,
Than love which is not free.”

— Ernest Dowson

A Last Word
Let us go hence: the night is now at hand;
The day is over worn, the birds all flown;
And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown;
Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land,
Broods like an owl; we cannot understand
Laughter or tears, for we have only known
Surpassing vanity: vain things alone
Have driven our perverse and aimless band..
Let us go hence, some whither strange and cold,
To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust
Find end of labor, where's rest for the old,
Freedom to all from love and fear and lust.
Twine our torn hands! O pray the earth enfold
Our life-sick hearts and turn them into dust

— Ernest Dowson

“I understand that absinthe makes the tart grow fonder.”

— Ernest Dowson

“And I was desolate and sick of an old passion.”

— Ernest Dowson

“They are not long, the weeping and the laughter. Love and desire and hate; I think they have no portion in us after We pass the gate.”

— Ernest Dowson

“Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.”

— Ernest Dowson

Pale amber sunlight falls across The reddening October trees ... Are we not better and at home In dreamful Autumn, we who deem No harvest joy is worth a dream? A little while and night shall come, A little while, then, let us dream ...

— Ernest Dowson