i chanced upon this while searching for another poem. this may seem familiar to some as quoted by Edmund in Long Day's Journey Into Night.
this is written by
Ernest Christopher Dowson, who by some chance has the same birthday as me. and this poem, was said to be written about a 12 year old girl whom he was wildly in love with. he was 24 years old then and alas, the love was unrequited. he died of alcoholism or perhaps tuberculosis, at 32.
another lovely piece by him :
They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
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.
-Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam