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Digby Mackworth Dolben

· Digby Mackworth Dolben: Anacreontic · Digby Mackworth Dolben: Enough · Digby Mackworth Dolben: After reading Homer · Digby Mackworth Dolben: A Song · Digby Mackworth Dolben: From Sappho

Digby Mackworth Dolben: Anacreontic

 

 

Anacreontic

On the tender myrtle-branches,

In the meadow lotus-grassed,
While the wearied sunlight softly

To the Happy Islands passed,
Reddest lips the reddest vintage

Of the bright Aegean quaffing,
There I saw them lie, the evening

Hazes rippled with their laughing.
Round them boys, with hair as golden

As Queen Cytherea’s own is,
Sang to lyres wreathed with ivy

Of the beautiful Adonis
(Of Adonis the Desired,

He has perished on the mountain,)
While their voices, rising, falling,

As the murmur of a fountain,
Glittered upwards at the mention

Of his beauty unavailing ;
Scattered into rainbowed teardrops

To the at ai of the wailing.

Digby Mackworth Dolben
(1848 – 1867)
Anacreontic

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Digby Mackworth Dolben: Enough

 

Enough

When all my words were said,
When all my songs were sung,
I thought to pass among
The unforgotten dead,

A Queen of ruth to reign
With her, who gathereth tears
From all the lands and years,
The Lesbian maid of pain;

That lovers, when they wove
The double myrtle-wreath,
Should sigh with mingled breath
Beneath the wings of Love:

‘How piteous were her wrongs,
Her words were falling dew,
All pleasant verse she knew,
But not the Song of songs.’

Yet now, O Love, that you
Have kissed my forehead, I
Have sung indeed, can die,
And be forgotten too.

Digby Mackworth Dolben
(1848 – 1867)
Enough

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Digby Mackworth Dolben: After reading Homer

 

After reading Homer

Happy the man, who on the mountain-side
Bending o’er fern and flowers his basket fills :
Yet he will never know the outline-power,
The awful Whole of the Eternal Hills.

So some there are, who never feel the strength
In thy blind eyes, majestic and complete,
Which conquers those, who motionlessly sit,
O dear divine old Giant, at thy feet.

Digby Mackworth Dolben
(1848 – 1867)
After reading Homer

 

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Digby Mackworth Dolben: A Song

 

A Song

The world is young today:
Forget the gods are old,
Forget the years of gold
When all the months were May.

A little flower of Love
Is ours, without a root,
Without the end of fruit,
Yet ― take the scent thereof.

There may be hope above,
There may be rest beneath;
We see them not, but Death
Is palpable ― and Love.

Digby Mackworth Dolben
(1848 – 1867)
A Song

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Digby Mackworth Dolben: From Sappho

From Sappho

Thou liest dead, lie on: of thee
No sweet remembrances shall be,
Who never plucked Pierian rose,
Who never chanced on Anteros.
Unknown, unnoticed, there below
Through Aides’ houses shalt thou go
Alone, for never a flitting ghost
Shall find in thee a lover lost.

Digby Mackworth Dolben
(1848 – 1867)
From Sappho

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