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    I Rose From Dreamless Hours & Other Poems: “We men of this age are rotten with book-lore and with a yearning for the past. The Last Generation”
    I Rose From Dreamless Hours & Other Poems: “We men of this age are rotten with book-lore and with a yearning for the past. The Last Generation”
    I Rose From Dreamless Hours & Other Poems: “We men of this age are rotten with book-lore and with a yearning for the past. The Last Generation”
    Ebook85 pages50 minutes

    I Rose From Dreamless Hours & Other Poems: “We men of this age are rotten with book-lore and with a yearning for the past. The Last Generation”

    By James Elroy Flecker

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    About this ebook

    James Elroy Flecker was born on November 5th 1884 in London. He was educated at Dean Close School, Cheltenham, where his father was headmaster, and Uppingham School then on to Trinity College, Oxford, and Caius College, Cambridge. At Oxford he was much influenced by the vestiges of the Aesthetic movement there. In 1910 he was in the consular service, in the Eastern Mediterranean. On a ship to Athens he met Helle Skiadaressi and married her in 1911. Perhaps his best known work is "To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence". Tragically James was to die at age 30 on January 3rd 1915, in Davos, Switzerland of tuberculosis. An immense loss to English Poetry – he had already been measured against the work of Keats.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopyright Group
    Release dateJan 3, 2014
    ISBN9781783949076
    I Rose From Dreamless Hours & Other Poems: “We men of this age are rotten with book-lore and with a yearning for the past. The Last Generation”

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      Book preview

      I Rose From Dreamless Hours & Other Poems - James Elroy Flecker

      I Rose From Dreamless Hours & Other Poems

      by James Elroy Flecker

      James Elroy Flecker was born on November 5th 1884 in London. 

      He was educated at Dean Close School, Cheltenham, where his father was headmaster, and Uppingham School then on to Trinity College, Oxford, and Caius College, Cambridge.  At Oxford he was much influenced by the vestiges of the Aesthetic movement there.

      In 1910 he was in the consular service, in the Eastern Mediterranean. On a ship to Athens he met Helle Skiadaressi and married her in 1911.

      Perhaps his best known work is To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence.   Tragically James was to die at age 30 on January 3rd 1915, in Davos, Switzerland of tuberculosis.  An immense loss to English Poetry – he had already been measured against the work of Keats. 

      Index Of Poems

      To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence

      Riouperoux

      The Town Without A Market

      The Balled Of Camden Town

      Mignon

      Felo De Se

      Tenebris Interlucentem

      Invitation To A Young But Learned Friend....

      Balled Of The Londoner

      The First Sonnet Of Bathrolaire

      The Second Sonnet Of Bathrolaire

      The Masque Of The Magi

      The Balled Of Hampstead Heath

      Litany To Satan

      The Translator And The Children

      Opportunity

      Destroyer Of Ships, Men, Cities

      War Song Of The Saracens

      Joseph And Mary

      No Coward's Song

      A Western Voyage

      Fountains

      The Welsh Sea

      Oxford Canal

      Hialmar Speaks To The Raven

      The Ballad Of The Student In The South

      The Queen's Song

      Lord Arnaldos

      We That Were friends

      My Friend

      Ideal

      Mary Magdalen

      I Rose From Dreamless Hours

      Prayer

      A Miracle Of Bethlehem

      Gravis Dulcis Immutabilis

      Pillage

      The Ballad Of Zacho

      Pavlovna In London

      The Sentimentalist

      Don Juan In Hell

      The Ballad Of Iskander

      A Ship, An Isle, A Sickle Moon

      A Western Voyage

      Epithalamion

      Hassan’s Serenade

      Ideal

      Stillness

      Oak And Olive

      The Dying Patriot

      The Queen’s Song

      Santorin

      The Gates Of Damascus

      The Town Without A Market

      Yasmin (A Ghazel)

      The Welsh Sea

      The Old Ships

      Bridge Of Fire

      The Sentimentalist

      TO A POET A THOUSAND YEARS HENCE

      I who am dead a thousand years,

      And wrote this sweet archaic song,

      Send you my words for messengers

      The way I shall not pass along.

      I care not if you bridge the seas,

      Or ride secure the cruel sky,

      Or build consummate palaces

      Of metal or of masonry.

      But have you wine and music still,

      And statues and a bright-eyed love,

      And foolish thoughts of good and ill,

      And prayers to them who sit above?

      How shall we conquer?  Like a wind

      That falls at eve our fancies blow,

      And old Moeonides the blind

      Said it three thousand years ago.

      O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,

      Student of our sweet English tongue,

      Read out my words at night, alone:

      I was a poet, I was young.

      Since I can never see your face,

      And never shake you by the hand,

      I send my soul through time and space

      To greet you.  You will understand.

      RIOUPEROUX

      High and solemn mountains guard Riouperoux,

      Small untidy village where the river drives a mill:

      Frail as wood anemones, white and frail were you,

      And drooping a little, like the slender daffodil.

      Oh I will go to France again, and tramp the valley through,

      And I will change these gentle clothes for clog and corduroy,

      And work with the mill-hands of black Riouperoux,

      And walk with you, and talk with you, like any other boy.

      THE TOWN WITHOUT A MARKET

      There lies afar behind a western hill

      The Town without a Market, white and still;

      For six feet long and not a third as high

      Are those small habitations.  There stood I,

      Waiting to hear the citizens beneath

      Murmur and sigh and speak through tongueless teeth.

      When all the world lay burning in the sun

      I heard their voices speak to me.  Said one:

      "Bright lights I loved and colours, I who find

      That death is darkness, and has struck me blind."

      Another cried:  "I used to sing and play,

      But here the world is silent, day by day."

      And one:  "On earth I could not see or hear,

      But with my fingers touched what I was near,

      And knew things round and soft, and

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