ERNEST DOWSON
Non sum gualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae
EST 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 bow'd my head I have been faithful to thec, 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 pabsion,
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 1 was desolate and sick of an old pasbion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long I have been faithful to thce, 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 thce, Cynara! in my fashion.
�� �
