August 2, 2022

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Historical Events

1858 Birth of William Watson, English poet. He was a poet laureate of England. His iconic poem April reminds us that the month is the oldest daughter of spring.
April, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter;
Then,
the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears!
April,
that mine ears Like a lover greetest,
If I tell thee, sweetest, All my hopes and fears,
April, April,
Laugh thy golden laughter,
But, the moment after,
Weep thy golden tears!

1867

Pale amber sunlight falls across
The reddening October trees....
Are we not better and at home
In dreamful Autumn, we who deem
No harvest joy is worth a dream?
A little while and night shall come,
A little while, then, let us dream...
~Birth of Ernest Dowson (1867–1900), "Autumnal"

“AUTUMNAL

Pale amber sunlight falls across
The reddening October trees,
That hardly sway before a breeze
As soft as summer: summer's loss
Seems little, dear! on days like these.

Let misty autumn be our part!
The twilight of the year is sweet:
Where shadow and the darkness meet
Our love, a twilight of the heart
Eludes a little time's deceit.

Are we not better and at home
In dreamful Autumn, we who deem
No harvest joy is worth a dream?
A little while and night shall come,
A little while, then, let us dream.

Beyond the pearled horizons lie
Winter and night: awaiting these
We garner this poor hour of ease,
Until love turn from us and die
Beneath the drear November trees.”
― Ernest Dowson, The Poems and Prose of Ernest Dowson

Birth of Today is the birthday of the Victorian poet William Watson who is born on this day in 1858.
Watson was overlooked two times for the role of poet laureate because he had included his political views about the government's policy regarding South Africa and Ireland into some of his poetry.
Late in his life, he was invited to write a poem to commemorate the Liverpool cathedral in 1924 to help raise money. He did the job, but the church wasn’t thrilled that Watson had written about the squalid conditions of the cities population - which was in stark contrast to the Grand Cathedral.
Once Watson died, England embraced him. Rudyard Kipling said he was. "someone who had never written a bad line."
Here’s a poem by William Watson that gardeners will appreciate. It’s called simply Three Flowers:
I made a little song about the rose
And sang it for the rose to hear,
Nor ever marked until the music's close
A lily that was listening near.
The red red rose flushed redder with delight,
And like a queen her head she raised.
The white white lily blanched a paler white,
For anger that she was not praised.
Turning I left the rose unto her pride,
The lily to her enviousness,
And soon upon the grassy ground espied
A daisy all companionless.
Doubtless no flattered flower is this, I deemed;
And not so graciously it grew
As rose or lily: but methought it seemed
More thankful for the sun and dew.
Dear love, my sweet small flower that grew'st among
The grass, from all the flowers apart,—
Forgive me that I gave the rose my song,
Ere thou, the daisy, hadst my heart!