|ELCore.Net > Poetry > Catholic Poets > Poems of Ernest Dowson|
|To One in Bedlam|
With delicate, mad hands, behind his sordid bars,|
Surely he hath his posies, which they tear and twine;
Those scentless wisps of straw, that miserably line
His strait, caged universe, whereat the dull world stares,
Pedant and pitiful. O, how his rapt gaze wars|
With their stupidity! Know they what dreams divine
Lift his long, laughing reveries like enchaunted wine,
And make his melancholy germane to the stars?
O lamentable brother! if those pity thee,|
Am I not fain of all thy lone eyes promise me;
Half a fools kingdom, far from men who sow and reap,
All their days, vanity? Better than mortal flowers,
Thy moon-kissed roses seem; better than love or sleep,
The star-crowned solitude of thine oblivious hours!
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Lane Core Jr. (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Created November 12, 2002; not revised.