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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE DYING OF TANNEGUY DU BOIS, by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Yea, I am passed away, I think, from this Last Line: There is no bird in any last year's nest! Alternate Author Name(s): Dobson, Austin | |||
En los nidos de antano No hay pajaros hogano. -- SPANISH PROVERB. YEA, I am passed away, I think, from this; Nor helps me herb, nor any leechcraft here, But lift me hither the sweet cross to kiss, And witness ye, I go without a fear. Yea, I am sped, and never more shall see, As once I dreamed, the show of shield and crest, Gone southward to the fighting by the sea; -- There is no bird in any last year's nest! Yea, with me now all dreams are done, I ween, Grown faint and unremembered; voices call High up, like misty warders dimly seen Moving at morn on some Burgundian wall; And all things swim -- as when the charger stands Quivering between the knees, and East and West Are filled with flash of scarves and waving hands; -- There is no bird in any last year's nest! Is she a dream I left in Aquitaine? -- My wife Giselle, -- who never spoke a word, Although I knew her mouth was drawn with pain, Her eyelids hung with tears; and though I heard The strong sob shake her throat, and saw the cord Her necklace made about it; -- she that prest To watch me trotting till I reached the ford; -- There is no bird in any last year's nest! Ah! I had hoped, God wot, -- had longed that she Should watch me from the little-lit tourelle, Me, coming riding by the windy lea -- Me, coming back again to her, Giselle; Yea, I had hoped once more to hear him call, The curly-pate, who, rushen lance in rest, Stormed at the lilies by the orchard wall; -- There is no bird in any last year's nest! But how, my Masters, ye are wrapt in gloom! This Death will come, and whom he loves he cleaves Sheer through the steel and leather; hating whom He smites in shameful wise behind the greaves. 'Tis a fair time with Dennis and the Saints, And weary work to age, and want for rest, When harness groweth heavy, and one faints, With no bird left in any last year's nest! Give ye good hap, then, all. For me, I lie Broken in Christ's sweet hand, with whom shall rest To keep me living, now that I must die; -- There is no bird in any last year's nest! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GAGE D'AMOUR by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON A GARDEN SONG by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON ARS VICTRIX (IMITATED FROM THEOPHILE GAUTIER) by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON BEFORE SEDAN by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON DORA VERSUS ROSE by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON GROWING GRAY by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW; IN MEMORIAM by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON IN AFTER DAYS; RONDEAU by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON WHEN THERE IS PEACE by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON |
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