THE NEW REMORSE (Oscar Wilde Poems)
The sin was mine; I did not understand. So now is music prisoned in her cave, Save where some ebbing ...
The sin was mine; I did not understand. So now is music prisoned in her cave, Save where some ebbing ...
Italia! thou art fallen, though with sheen Of battle-spears thy clamorous armies stride From the north Alps to the Sicilian ...
I have no store Of gryphon-guarded gold; Now, as before, Bare is the shepherd's fold. Rubies nor pearls Have I ...
Go, little book, To him who, on a lute with horns of pearl, Sang of the white feet of the ...
Rid of the world's injustice, and his pain, He rests at last beneath God's veil of blue: Taken from life ...
The sea was sapphire coloured, and the sky Burned like a heated opal through the air; We hoisted sail; the ...
The Gods are dead: no longer do we bring To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves! Demeter's child no more hath ...
Under the rose-tree's dancing shade There stands a little ivory girl, Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl With pale ...
Rome! what a scroll of History thine has been; In the first days thy sword republican Ruled the whole world ...
Within this restless, hurried, modern world We took our hearts' full pleasure - You and I, And now the white ...
O singer of Persephone! In the dim meadows desolate Dost thou remember Sicily? Still through the ivy flits the bee ...
A white mist drifts across the shrouds, A wild moon in this wintry sky Gleams like an angry lion's eye ...
My limbs are wasted with a flame, My feet are sore with travelling, For, calling on my Lady's name, My ...
(To Ellen Terry) I marvel not Bassanio was so bold To peril all he had upon the lead, Or that ...
Dear Heart, I think the young impassioned priest When first he takes from out the hidden shrine His God imprisoned ...
I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned, Italia, my Italia, at thy name: And when from out the ...
Was this His coming! I had hoped to see A scene of wondrous glory, as was told Of some great ...
To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wear This paltry age's gaudy livery, To let each base hand filch ...
To that gaunt House of Art which lacks for naught Of all the great things men have saved from Time, ...
The apple trees are hung with gold, And birds are loud in Arcady, The sheep lie bleating in the fold, ...
An omnibus across the bridge Crawls like a yellow butterfly And, here and there, a passer-by Shows like a little ...
Two crowned Kings, and One that stood alone With no green weight of laurels round his head, But with sad ...
To drift with every passion till my soul Is a stringed lute on which can winds can play, Is it ...
The Thames nocturne of blue and gold Changed to a Harmony in grey: A barge with ochre-coloured hay Dropt from ...
I stood by the unvintageable sea Till the wet waves drenched face and hair with spray; The long red fires ...
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