Endymion (Oscar Wilde Poems)
(FOR MUSIC.) THE apple trees are hung with gold, And birds are loud in Arcady, The sheep lie bleating in the fold, The wild ...
(FOR MUSIC.) THE apple trees are hung with gold, And birds are loud in Arcady, The sheep lie bleating in the fold, The wild ...
(NORMANDE.)I AM weary of lying within the chaseWhen the knights are meeting in market-place.Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed ...
It was night-time and He was alone.And He saw afar-off the walls of a round city and went towards thecity.And ...
Now when the darkness came over the earth Joseph of Arimathea,having lighted a torch of pinewood, passed down from the ...
I reached the Alps: the soul within me burnedItalia, my Italia, at thy name:And when from out the mountain's heart ...
Beautiful star with the crimson lipsAnd flagrant daffodil hair,Come back, come back, in the shaking shipsO'er the much-overrated sea,To the ...
I can write no stately proemAs a prelude to my lay;From a poet to a poemI would dare to say.For ...
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 ...
My limbs are wasted with a flame, My feet are sore with travelling, For, calling on my Lady's name, My ...
The Thames nocturne of blue and gold Changed to a Harmony in grey: A barge with ochre-coloured hay Dropt from ...
I am weary of lying within the chase When the knights are meeting in market-place. Nay, go not thou to ...
Where hast thou been since round the walls of Troy The sons of God fought in that great emprise? Why ...
Under the rose-tree's dancing shade There stands a little ivory girl, Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl With pale ...
The apple trees are hung with gold, And birds are loud in Arcady, The sheep lie bleating in the fold, ...
Is it thy will that I should wax and wane, Barter my cloth of gold for hodden grey, And at ...
This English Thames is holier far than Rome, Those harebells like a sudden flush of sea Breaking across the woodland, ...
I can write no stately proem As a prelude to my lay; From a poet to a poem I would ...
I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned, Italia, my Italia, at thy name: And when from out the ...
I. He was a Grecian lad, who coming home With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily Stood at his galley's ...
(To Marcel Schwob in friendship and in admiration) In a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy ...
To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wear This paltry age's gaudy livery, To let each base hand filch ...
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