A hunger for her heart

Back in Edinburgh from mid-morning - lovely weekend in Northumberland ...

... training rest-day; and here's a poem from the pictured 2001 compilation volume, which I have blipped from before. It's by Ernest Dowson:


Spleen

I WAS not sorrowful, I could not weep,
And all my memories were put to sleep.

I watched the river grow more white and strange,
All day till evening I watched it change.

All day till evening I watched the rain
Beat wearily upon the window pane.

I was not sorrowful, but only tired
Of everything that ever I desired.

Her lips, her eyes, all day became to me
The shadow of a shadow utterly.

All day mine hunger for her heart became
Oblivion, until the evening came,

And left me sorrowful, inclined to weep,
With all my memories that could not sleep.

---

Ernest Dowson (1867-1900)