TCDE-Team: Created page with "''An Involuntary Elegy'' is a anonymous poem published in The St. James's Gazette on 16 december 1893. The poem was a reaction to the "death" of Sherlock Holmes in the Arthur Conan Doyle's short story : The Adventure of the Final Problem (1893). == An Involuntary Elegy == [[The St. James's Gazette (16 december 1893, p. 12)]] (In Memory of Sherlock Holmes.) So at..."

2024-03-05T23:35:18Z

Created page with "''An Involuntary Elegy'' is a anonymous poem published in The St. James's Gazette on 16 december 1893. The poem was a reaction to the "death" of Sherlock Holmes in the Arthur Conan Doyle's short story : The Adventure of the Final Problem (1893). == An Involuntary Elegy == thumb|250p|right|[[The St. James's Gazette (16 december 1893, p. 12)]] (In Memory of Sherlock Holmes.) So at..."

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''An Involuntary Elegy'' is a anonymous poem published in [[The St. James's Gazette]] on 16 december 1893.

The poem was a reaction to the "death" of [[Sherlock Holmes]] in the [[Arthur Conan Doyle]]'s short story : [[The Adventure of the Final Problem]] (1893).

== An Involuntary Elegy ==
[[File:the-st-james-s-gazette-1893-12-16-p12-an-involuntary-elegy.jpg|thumb|250p|right|[[The St. James's Gazette]] (16 december 1893, p. 12)]]

(In Memory of Sherlock Holmes.)

So at the last he yields to Fate, 
And we lament a vanished friend, 
Through thrilling pages that narrate 
The history of his tragic end.

Who solved with monthly stratagems, 
To win imaginary thanks, 
Mysteries of pilfered diadems, 
And gunshot wounds and plundered banks.

Our recollection wanders o'er 
Black villainies by sea and land, 
The Pair of Ears, the [[SIGN|Sign of Four]], 
The [[TWIS|Twisted Lip]], the [[SPEC|Speckled Band]].

And through them all that visage pale, 
Those hawk-like eyes, alert and bright, 
That subtle wit that could not fail, 
Those theories that were always right.

Fare you, poor played-out fancy, well, 
We know you were absurd, untrue, 
Yet have we met, we blush to tell, 
Heroes who bored us more than you.

Farewell the modern novel's path 
Is pointing to a deeper Art, 
And such a serious humour hath 
No place for your sensationnal part.

Yet, when we grapple with such tomes, 
In leisure hours on sunny lawns, 
Perchance your memory, [[Sherlock Holmes]], 
May lend a fervour to our yawns.

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