Ernest Dowson (
1867-
1900)
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 gray;
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 was 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.