Lotus Leaves (Oscar Wilde Poems)
I -There is no peace beneath the moon,-Ah! in those meadows is there peaceWhere, girdled with a silver fleece,As a ...
I -There is no peace beneath the moon,-Ah! in those meadows is there peaceWhere, girdled with a silver fleece,As a ...
To that gaunt House of Art which lacks for naughtOf all the great things men have saved from Time,The withered ...
(NORMANDE.)I AM weary of lying within the chaseWhen the knights are meeting in market-place.Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed ...
Seven stars in the still water,And seven in the sky;Seven sins on the King's daughter,Deep in her soul to lie.Red ...
Two crowned Kings, and One that stood alone With no green weight of laurels round his head, But with sad ...
Rome! what a scroll of History thine has been; In the first days thy sword republican Ruled the whole world ...
Seven stars in the still water, And seven in the sky; Seven sins on the King's daughter, Deep in her ...
It is full summer now, the heart of June; Not yet the sunburnt reapers are astir Upon the upland meadow ...
(Newdigate prize poem recited in the Sheldonian Theatre Oxford June 26th, 1878. To my friend George Fleming author of 'The ...
(To Marcel Schwob in friendship and in admiration) In a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy ...
It is full winter now: the trees are bare, Save where the cattle huddle from the cold Beneath the pine, ...
The western wind is blowing fair Across the dark AEgean sea, And at the secret marble stair My Tyrian galley ...
I. The corn has turned from grey to red, Since first my spirit wandered forth From the drear cities of ...
The Gods are dead: no longer do we bring To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves! Demeter's child no more hath ...
To that gaunt House of Art which lacks for naught Of all the great things men have saved from Time, ...
I am weary of lying within the chase When the knights are meeting in market-place. Nay, go not thou to ...
(To Ellen Terry) In the lone tent, waiting for victory, She stands with eyes marred by the mists of pain, ...
Italia! thou art fallen, though with sheen Of battle-spears thy clamorous armies stride From the north Alps to the Sicilian ...
Eagle of Austerlitz! where were thy wings When far away upon a barbarous strand, In fight unequal, by an obscure ...
Set in this stormy Northern sea, Queen of these restless fields of tide, England! what shall men say of thee, ...
I. He was a Grecian lad, who coming home With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily Stood at his galley's ...
This English Thames is holier far than Rome, Those harebells like a sudden flush of sea Breaking across the woodland, ...
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