"Poor wounded wonderful fellow that he was, a tragic reproduction of all tragic poetry, like a symbol, or a scene. I hope bay leaves will be laid on his tomb, and rue and myrtle too, for he knew what love is."
– Oscar Wilde, writing about Ernest Dowson
Though you may not immediately recognize this poet's name, you no doubt know several of Ernest Dowson's lines. He is the writer who gave us:
- Days of wine and roses
- Gone with the wind and
- I have been faithful…in my fashion.
The Oxford English Dictionary credits Dowson with making the first recorded use of the word "soccer" in a written piece.
His life seems to have been one of both privilege and tragedy. His great-uncle was prime minister of New Zealand. Dowson attended Queen's College at Cambridge, left before graduating, and at age 22, began working for his father's dry-docking business in London.
During these years, he led an active social life and he wrote. He was a member of the Rhymers' Club, a London-based group of male poets organized by William Butler Years and Ernest Rhys. The club met in pubs and private homes to drink and recite poetry. They also issued two volumes of poetry that included work by Dowson.
Dowson's good times were countered by troubles. He became infatuated with a young girl, proposing marriage to her when she was just 15 years old and he 26. She rejected him. A few years later, both his parents died after having tuberculosis. And Dowson's own health was undermined by alcohol use.
Dowson through it all, however, managed to write poems, short stories, novels, and translate French fiction.
Not long after his mother’s death in 1895, Dowson's well-being declined sharply, most likely caused by a combination of excessive drinking and tuberculosis. Despite help from concerned friends, he died in 1900 at the age of 32.
Below, find his poem about April, one that reflects some of the qualities Oscar Wilde noticed.
April Love
We have walked in Love's land a little way,
We have learnt his lesson a little while,
And shall we not part at the end of day,
With a sigh, a smile?
A little while in the shine of the sun,
We were twined together, joined lips, forgot
How the shadows fall when the day is done,
And when Love is not.
We have made no vows - there will none be broke,
Our love was free as the wind on the hill,
There was no word said we need wish unspoke,
We have wrought no ill.
So shall we not part at the end of day,
Who have loved and lingered a little while,
Join lips for the last time, go our way,
With a sigh, a smile?
