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Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde

To my Wife

With a Copy of My Poems

I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
I would dare to say.
 
For if of these fallen petals
One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
On your hair.
 
And when wind and winter harden
All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
You will understand.

#Gays #Irish #Victorians #1897 #TheBalladOfReadingGaol

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Amor Intellectualis

Oft have we trod the vales of Cas… And heard sweet notes of sylvan mu… From antique reeds to common folk… And often launched our bark upon t… Which the nine Muses hold in empe…
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At Verona

How steep the stairs within Kings… For exile—wearied feet as mine to… And O how salt and bitter is the… Which falls from this Hound’s tab… That I had died in the red ways o…
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Impressions I: Les Silhouettes

The sea is flecked with bars of gr… The dull dead wind is out of tune, And like a withered leaf the moon Is blown across the stormy bay. Etched clear upon the pallid sand
Endymion

The apple trees are hung with gold… And birds are loud in Arcady, The sheep lie bleating in the fold… The wild goat runs across the wold… But yesterday his love he told,
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The Harlot's House

We caught the tread of dancing fee… We loitered down the moonlit stree… And stopped beneath the harlot’s h… Inside, above the din and fray, We heard the loud musicians play
The Grave of Keats

Rid of the world’s injustice, and… He rests at last beneath God’s ve… Taken from life when life and love… The youngest of the martyrs here i… Fair as Sebastian, and as early s…
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Quia Multum Amavi

Dear Heart I think the young impa… When first he takes from out the h… His God imprisoned in the Euchari… And eats the bread, and drinks the… Feels not such awful wonder as I…
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Impression Du Voyage

The sea was sapphire coloured, and… Burned like a heated opal through… We hoisted sail; the wind was blow… For the blue lands that to the eas… From the steep prow I marked with…
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Magdalen Walks

The little white clouds are racing… And the fields are strewn with the… The daffodil breaks under foot, an… Sways and swings as the thrush goe… A delicate odour is borne on the w…
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The Doer of Good

It was night—time and He was alon… And He saw afar—off the walls of… city. And when He came near He heard wi… feet of joy, and the laughter of t…
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John Milton, by Unknown artist
To Milton

Milton! I think thy spirit hath p… From these white cliffs, and high-… This gorgeous fiery-coloured world… Seems fallen into ashes dull and g… And the age changed unto a mimic p…
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Impressions II: La Mer

A white mist drifts across the shr… A wild moon in this wintry sky Gleams like an angry lion’s eye Out of a mane of tawny clouds. The muffled steersman at the wheel
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Sonnet: On Hearing the Dies Iræ Sung in the Sistine Chapel

Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies… Sad olive—groves, or silver—breast… Teach me more clearly of Thy life… Than terrors of red flame and thun… The hillside vines dear memories o…
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The New Helen

Where hast thou been since round t… The sons of God fought in that gr… Why dost thou walk our common eart… Hast thou forgotten that impassion… His purple galley, and his Tyrian…
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The Grave of Shelley

Like burnt—out torches by a sick m… Gaunt cypress—trees stand round th… Here doth the little night—owl mak… And the slight lizard show his jew… And, where the chaliced poppies fl…
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