I STOOD by the unvintageable sea
Till the wet waves drenched face and hair with spray,
The long red fires of the dying day
Burned in the west; the wind piped drearily;
And to the land the clamorous gulls did flee:
'Alas!' I cried, 'my life is full of pain,
And who can garner fruit or golden grain,
From these waste fields which travail ceaselessly!'
My nets gaped wide with many a break and flaw
Nathless I threw them as my final cast
Into the sea, and waited for the end.
When lo! a sudden glory! and I saw
The argent splendour of white limbs ascend,
And in that joy forgot my tortured past.
written by Oscar Wilde, published on Wed 02.24.2010 at 21:53
The sin was mine; I did not understand.
So now is music prisoned in her cave,
Save where some ebbing desultory wave
written by Oscar Wilde, published on Thu 02.18.2010 at 04:56
THE apple trees are hung with gold,
And birds are loud in Arcady,
The sheep lie bleating in the fold,
written by Oscar Wilde, published on Sat 02.13.2010 at 09:09
Under the rose-tree's dancing shade
There stands a little ivory girl,
Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl
written by Oscar Wilde, published on Mon 02.08.2010 at 15:55
LIKE burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed
Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
written by Oscar Wilde, published on Tue 02.02.2010 at 23:05
CHRIST, dost thou live indeed? or are thy bones
Still straightened in their rock-hewn sepulchre?