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 ...
I -There is no peace beneath the moon,-Ah! in those meadows is there peaceWhere, girdled with a silver fleece,As a ...
Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of commonclayI had climbed the ...
We are resolved into the supreme air,We are made one with what we touch and see,With our heart's blood each ...
O well for him who lives at easeWith garnered gold in wide domain,Nor heeds the splashing of the rain,The crashing ...
We are resolved into the supreme air, We are made one with what we touch and see, With our heart’s ...
(Newdigate prize poem recited in the Sheldonian Theatre Oxford June 26th, 1878. To my friend George Fleming author of 'The ...
It is full winter now: the trees are bare, Save where the cattle huddle from the cold Beneath the pine, ...
The little white clouds are racing over the sky, And the fields are strewn with the gold of the flower ...
The apple trees are hung with gold, And birds are loud in Arcady, The sheep lie bleating in the fold, ...
Nay, let us walk from fire unto fire, From passionate pain to deadlier delight, - I am too young to ...
This English Thames is holier far than Rome, Those harebells like a sudden flush of sea Breaking across the woodland, ...
I have no store Of gryphon-guarded gold; Now, as before, Bare is the shepherd's fold. Rubies nor pearls Have I ...
In the glad springtime when leaves were green, O merrily the throstle sings! I sought, amid the tangled sheen, Love ...
O well for him who lives at ease With garnered gold in wide domain, Nor heeds the splashing of the ...
I. He was a Grecian lad, who coming home With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily Stood at his galley's ...
A ring of gold and a milk-white dove Are goodly gifts for thee, And a hempen rope for your own ...
This winter air is keen and cold, And keen and cold this winter sun, But round my chair the children ...
It is full summer now, the heart of June; Not yet the sunburnt reapers are astir Upon the upland meadow ...
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