The poem
When I am old, And sadly steal apart, Into the dark and cold, Friend of my heart! Remember, if you can, Not him who lingers, but that other man, Who loved and sang, and had a beating heart, -- When I am old!
When I am old, And all Love's ancient fire Be tremulous and cold: My soul's desire! Remember, if you may, Nothing of you and me but yesterday, When heart on heart we bid the years conspire To make us old.
When I am old, And every star above Be pitiless and cold: My life's one love! Forbid me not to go: Remember nought of us but long ago, And not at last, how love and pity strove When I grew old!
I had never heard of Dowson, til a cryptic allusion in Saul Bellow's "Mr. Sammler's Planet" spoke of "fidelity in Cynara-Dowson fashion". A few Googles later, and I discovered Ernest Dowson and his romantic/tragic poetry. Now I've put Bellow aside for a few minutes to immerse myself in Dowson. It's amazing that Dowson died so young (35, I believe). Here I am at 68, finding this poetry which speaks so knowingly of…
Read the whole commentI had never heard of Dowson, til a cryptic allusion in Saul Bellow's "Mr. Sammler's Planet" spoke of "fidelity in Cynara-Dowson fashion". A few Googles later, and I discovered Ernest Dowson and his romantic/tragic poetry. Now I've put Bellow aside for a few minutes to immerse myself in Dowson.
It's amazing that Dowson died so young (35, I believe). Here I am at 68, finding this poetry which speaks so knowingly of young love fading, fading, til perhaps only pity is finally left. On second thought, though, perhaps Dowson was wrong. It's love-as-lust that fades til it be best forgotten. Other forms of love grow rather than fade...until Alzheimers wipes all away.
Why did I not hear of Ernest Dowson when I took that Romantic Poets course at Yale?