Quote

In this world with starry dome,Floored with gemlike plains and seas,Shall I never feel at home,Never wholly be at ease?

William Watson

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William Watson
Age: 77 †
Born: 1858
Born: August 2
Died: 1935
Died: August 11
Poet
Writer
Newark
Nottinghamshire
Sir William Watson
Feel
Starry
Feels
Plains
Never
Seas
World
Wholly
Ease
Sea
Floored
Shall
Dome
Home
Domes

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Song is not Truth, not Wisdom, but the rose Upon Truths lips, the light in Wisdom's eyes.
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Thou hadst, for weary feet, the gift of rest.
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Fiat justitia et ruant coeli. Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall. See Ferdinand I 320:1.
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God, eldest of Poets.
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Lord of the golden tongue and smiting eyes Great out of season and untimely wise: A man whose virtue, genius, grandeur, worth, Wrought deadlier ill than ages can undo.
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He saw wan Woman toil with famished eyes He saw her bound, and strove to sing her free. He saw her fall'n and wrote The Bridge of Sighs And on it crossed to immortality.
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Too long, that some may rest, tired millions toil unblest.
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The thirst to know and understand a large and liberal discontent.
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A dreamer of the common dreams, A fisher in familiar streams, He chased the transitory gleams That all pursue But on his lips the eternal themes Again were new.
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And though circuitous and obscureThe feet of Nemesis how sure!
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Threadbare his songs seem now, to lettered ken: They were worn threadbare next the hearts of men.
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The after-silence, when the feast is o'er,And void the places where the minstrels stood,Differs in nought from what hath been before,And is nor ill nor good.
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Braying of arrogant brass, whimper of querulous reeds.
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Best they honor thee Who honor in thee only what is best.
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On from room to room I stray,Yet mine Host can ne'er espy,And I know not to this day,Whether guest or captive I.
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His friends he loved. His direst earthly foe - Cats-I believe he did but feign to hate. My hand will miss the insinuated nose, Mine eyes the tail that wagged contempt at Fate.
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She is not old, she is not young, The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue. The haggard cheek, the hungering eye, The poisoned words that wildly fly, The famished face, the fevered hand, Who slights the worthiest in the land, Sneers at the just, contemns the brave, And blackens goodness in its grave.
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Deemest thou laborOnly is earnest?Grave is all beauty,Solemn is joy.
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April, April Laugh thy girlish laughter Then, the moment after, Weep thy girlish tears.
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We hold our hate too choice a thing, for light and careless lavishing.
William Watson