Lionel Johnson

Lionel Pigot Johnson (15 March 1867 – 4 October 1902) was an English poet, essayist and critic.

Quotes



 * Ill times may be; she hath no thought of time: She reigns beside the waters yet in pride. Rude voices cry: but in her ears the chime Of full, sad bells brings back her old springtide. Like to a queen in pride of place, she wears The splendour of a crown in Radcliffe's dome. Well fare she, well! As perfect beauty fares; And those high places, that are beauty's home.
 * "Oxford"


 * The winds are sometimes sad to me, The starry spaces, full of fear; Mine is the sorrow on the sea, And mine the sigh of places drear. Some players upon plaintive strings Publish their wistfulness abroad; I have not spoken of these things, Save to one man, and unto God.
 * "The Precept of Silence"


 * What comes now? The earth awaits What fierce wonder from the skies? Thunder, trampling through the night? Morning, with illustrious eyes? Morning, from the springs of light: Thunder, round Heaven's opening gates..
 * "July"

The Age of a Dream (1890)



 * Imageries of dreams reveal a gracious age: Black armour, falling lace, and altar lights at morn. The courtesy of saints, their gentleness and scorn, Lights on an earth more fair, than shone from Plato's page: The courtesy of knights, fair calm and sacred rage: The courtesy of love, sorrow for love's sake borne. Vanished, those high conceits! Desolate and forlorn, We hunger against hope for the lost heritage.


 * Now from the broken tower, what solemn bell still tolls, Mourning what piteous death? Answer, O saddened souls! Who mourn the death of beauty and the death of grace.

By the Statue of King Charles at Charing Cross (1895)



 * Alone he rides, alone, The fair and fatal king: Dark night is all his own, That strange and solemn thing.


 * Which are more full of fate: The stars; or those sad eyes? Which are more still and great: Those brows; or the dark skies?


 * Vanquished in life, his death By beauty made amends: The passing of his breath Won his defeated ends.


 * Our wearier spirit faints, Vexed in the world‘s employ: His soul was of the saints; And art to him was joy.


 * King, tried in fires of woe! Men hunger for thy grace: And through the night I go, Loving thy mournful face. Yet, when the city sleeps; When all the cries are still: The stars and heavenly deeps Work out a perfect will.

The Dark Angel (1895)

 * Full text at Wikisource


 * Dark Angel, with thine aching lust To rid the world of penitence: Malicious Angel, who still dost My soul such subtile violence!


 * Through thee, the gracious Muses turn, To Furies, O mine Enemy! And all the things of beauty burn With flames of evil ecstasy. Because of thee, the land of dreams Becomes a gathering place of fears: Until tormented slumber seems One vehemence of useless tears.

And thine the steely soul of ice: '''Thou poisonest the fair design Of nature, with unfair device.''' Apples of ashes, golden bright; Waters of bitterness, how sweet! O banquet of a foul delight, Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!
 * The ardour of red flame is thine,

The hinting tone, the haunting laugh: Thou art the adorner of my tomb, The minstrel of mine epitaph.
 * Thou art the whisper in the gloom,


 * I fight thee, in the Holy Name! Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith: Tempter! should I escape thy flame, Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death: The second Death, that never dies, That cannot die, when time is dead: Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries, Eternally uncomforted.


 * Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so, Dark Angel! triumph over me: Lonely, unto the Lone I go; Divine, to the Divinity.