Poems by James Elroy Flecker

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SCENE: A street of that village.
My friend the Sun--like all my friends
Evening falls on the smoky walls,
Helen of Troy has sprung from Hell
(from Baudelaire.)
The song of a man who was dead
Soft is the collied night, and cool
Come, let me kiss your wistful face
from Leconte de Lisle
I rose from dreamless hours and sought the morn
When all my gentle friends had gone
In those good days when we were young and wise,
O grandest of the Angels, and most wise,
Quien hubiese tal ventura?
O eyes that strip the souls of men!
Knowest thou the land where bloom the lemon trees,
I had a friend who battled for the truth
I am afraid to think about my death,
"But who art thou, with curious beauty graced,
When you have wearied of the valiant spires of this County Town,
I listened to the hunger-hearted clown,
They will trample our gardens to mire, they will bury our city in fire;
Let me not know how sins and sorrows glide
Satan, to thee be praise upon the Height
High and solemn mountains guard Riouperoux,
A linnet who had lost her way
I walked with Maisie long years back
From Heaven's Gate to Hampstead Heath
Aflatun and Aristu and King Iskander
It was no sooner than this morn
(a Greek Legend.)
Over the moonless land of Bathrolaire
Three Kings have come to Bethlehem
Had I the power
Now the sweet Dawn on brighter fields afar
There lies a photograph of you
There lies afar behind a western hill
While I translated Baudelaire,
Far out across Carnarvon bay,
I who am dead a thousand years,
We are they who come faster than fate: we are they who ride early or late:
We that were friends to-night have found