Ernest Dowson

A course in literature studies can sometimes be very limiting. I did my MA in English literature. Does that mean that I know everything about the literature published in the language? Hardly. The course I studied comprised less than 50 texts, most of them from the canon. So, you miss out on the so-called lesser writers and their gems. I discovered Ernest Dowson at the university library, while looking for Alexander Pope. I just read one poem and it stayed with me forever.

There’s something about the poems, I cannot quite explain. Everytime I read the poem, it makes me sad, and it makes me exhilarated. It was this poem that inspired me to try to be a poet.

For the trivia hunters, Margaret Mitchell picked the title of her book, ‘Gone With the Wind’ from this very poem.

(I was thinking of the poem today for no apparent reasons!)


Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae
By 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.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was grey:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

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:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

Ernest Christopher Dowson (2 August 1867 – 23 February 1900), born in Lee, London, was an English poet, novelist and writer of short stories, associated with the Decadent movement. More Here.
The poem in The Guardian Books.