Poems by Lord Alfred Douglas

All Poems Original Poems Translations

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The Dead Poet

I dreamed of him last night, I saw his face

All radiant and unshadowed of distress,

And as of old, in music measureless,

I heard his golden voice and marked him trace

Under the common thing the hidden grace,

And conjure wonder out of emptiness,

Till mean things put on beauty like a dress

And all the world was an enchanted place.

148

Lord Alfred Douglas

The Garden Of Death

There is an isle in an unfurrowed sea

That I wot of, whereon the whole year round

The apple-blossoms and the rosebuds be

In early blooming ; and a many sound

Of ten-stringed lute, and most mellifluous breath

Of silver flute, and mellow half-heard horn,

Making unmeasured music. Thither Death

Coming like Love, takes all things in the morn

208

Lord Alfred Douglas

Sonnet On The Sonnet

To see the moment holds a madrigal,

To find some cloistered place, some hermitage

For free devices, some deliberate cage

Wherein to keep wild thoughts like birds in thrall;

To eat sweet honey and to taste black gall,

To fight with form, to wrestle and to rage,

Till at the last upon the conquered page

The shadows of created Beauty fall.

179

Lord Alfred Douglas

The Green River

I know a green grass path that leaves the field,

And like a running river, winds along

Into a leafy wood where is no throng

Of birds at noon-day, and no soft throats yield

Their music to the moon. The place is sealed,

An unclaimed sovereignty of voiceless song,

And all the unravished silences belong

To some sweet singer lost or unrevealed.

114

Lord Alfred Douglas

The City Of The Soul: II

What shall we do, my soul, to please the King?

Seeing he hath no pleasure in the dance,

And hath condemned the honeyed utterance

Of silver flutes and mouths made round to sing.

Along the wall red roses climb and cling,

And oh! my prince, lift up thy countenance,

For there be thoughts like roses that entrance

More than the languors of soft lute-playing.

172

Lord Alfred Douglas

Not All The Singers Of A Thousand Years

Not all the singers of a thousand years

Can open English prisons. No. Though hell

Opened for Tracian Orpheus, now the spell

Of song and art is powerless as the tears

That love has shed. You that were full of fears,

And mean self-love, shall live to know full well

That you yourselves, not he, were pitiable

When you met mercy's voice with frowns or jeers.

129

Lord Alfred Douglas

Jonquil And Fleur-de-lys

Jonquil was a shepherd lad,

White he was as the curded cream,

Hair like the buttercups he had,

And wet green eyes like a full chalk stream.

His teeth were as white as the stones that lie

Down in the depths of the sun-bright river,

136

by Lord Alfred Douglas

To L —

Thou that wast once my loved and loving friend,

A friend no more, I had forgot thee quite,

Why hast thou come to trouble my delight

With memories ? Oh ! I had clean made end

Of all that time, I had made haste to send

My soul into red places, and to light

A torch of pleasure to burn up my night.

What I have woven hast thou come to rend ?

114

by Lord Alfred Douglas

Vae Victis!

Here in this isle

The summer still lingers,

And Autumn's brown fingers

So busy the while

With the leaves in the north;

Are scarcely put forth

In this land where the sun still glows like an ember,.

In mid-November.

161

by Lord Alfred Douglas

The Travelling Companion

Into the silence of the empty night

I went, and took my scorned heart with me,

And all the thousand eyes of heaven were bright;

But Sorrow came and led me back to thee.

I turned my weary eyes towards the sun,

Out of the leaden East like smoke came he.

I laughed and said, " The night is past and done " ;

But sorrow came and led me back to thee.

170

by Lord Alfred Douglas

Harmonic Du Soir

Voici venir le temps

Now is the hour when, swinging in the breeze,

Each flower, like a censer, sheds its sweet.

The air is full of scents and melodies,

O languorous waltz ! O swoon of dancing feet!

Each flower, like a censer, sheds its sweet,

The violins are like sad souls that cry,

O languorous waltz ! O swoon of dancing feet!

123

by Lord Alfred Douglas

Impressions De Nuit — London

See what a mass of gems the city wears

Upon her broad live bosom ! row on row

Rubies and emeralds and amethysts glow.

See ! that huge circle like a necklace, stares

With thousands of bold eyes to heaven, and dares

The golden stars to dim the lamps below,

And in the mirror of the mire I know

The moon has left her image unawares.

191

by Lord Alfred Douglas