Who is Ernest Dowson

Ernest Christopher Dowson (2 August 1867 – 23 February 1900) was an English poet, novelist, and short-story writer who is often associated with the Decadent movement.

Biography

Ernest Dowson was born in Lee, then in Kent, in 1867. His great-uncle was Alfred Domett, a Prime Minister of New Zealand. Dowson attended The Queen's College, Oxford, but left in March 1888 without obtaining a degree.In November 1888 Dowson started work at Dowson & Son, his father's dry-docking business in Limehouse, East London. He led an active social life, carousing with medical students and law pupils, visiting music halls, and taking the performers to dinner.

Dowson was a member of the Rhymers' Club, and a contributor to literary magazines such as The Yellow Book and The Savo...
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Top 10 most used topics by Ernest Dowson

Love 25 I Love You 25 Long 19 Heart 19 Night 14 Life 14 Sweet 14 World 12 Time 11 Cold 11


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Comments about Ernest Dowson

Ernstgraf: madder music, stronger wine : the life of ernest dowson, poet and decadent by jad adams a beautiful biography of a beautiful man
Howverynovel: they are not long, the days of wine and roses: out of a misty dream our path emerges for a while, then closes within a dream. - ernest dowson, 1896.
Thegoodestbuck: my favourite actual poem is a last word by ernest dowson.
Plantingtheoar: they are not long, the weeping & the laughter love & desire & hate: i think they have no portion in us after we pass the gate they are not long the days of wine & roses: out of a misty dream our path emerges for a while, then closes within a dream ernest dowson (1867 - 1900)
Penicillinmag: the cock in shaftesbury avenue - where ernest dowson wrote 'cynara', my favourite poem in the english language - now mr wu's chinese buffet
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Poem of the day

Edgar Albert Guest Poem
The Killing Place
 by Edgar Albert Guest

We're hiking along at a two-forty pace
We 're making life seem like a man-killing race,
With our nerves all on edge and our jaws firmly set
We go rushing along; with our brows lined with sweat
And our cheeks pale and drawn every minute we dash,
And the goal that we 're after is merely more cash.

We 're out for the money, the greenbacks and gold,
...

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