Poems List

The Grave Of Shelley

Like burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed
Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,
And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.
And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,
In the still chamber of yon pyramid
Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,
Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead.

Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,
But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,
Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.

ROME.

809

Taedium Vitae

To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wear
This paltry age's gaudy livery,
To let each base hand filch my treasury,
To mesh my soul within a woman's hair,
And be mere Fortune's lackeyed groom, - I swear
I love it not! these things are less to me
Than the thin foam that frets upon the sea,
Less than the thistledown of summer air
Which hath no seed: better to stand aloof
Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life
Knowing me not, better the lowliest roof
Fit for the meanest hind to sojourn in,
Than to go back to that hoarse cave of strife
Where my white soul first kissed the mouth of sin.

779

The Dole Of The King's Daughter (Breton)

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 roses are at her feet,
(Roses are red in her red-gold hair)
And O where her bosom and girdle meet
Red roses are hidden there.

Fair is the knight who lieth slain
Amid the rush and reed,
See the lean fishes that are fain
Upon dead men to feed.

Sweet is the page that lieth there,
(Cloth of gold is goodly prey,)
See the black ravens in the air,
Black, O black as the night are they.

What do they there so stark and dead?
(There is blood upon her hand)
Why are the lilies flecked with red?
(There is blood on the river sand.)

There are two that ride from the south and east,
And two from the north and west,
For the black raven a goodly feast,
For the King's daughter rest.

There is one man who loves her true,
(Red, O red, is the stain of gore!)
He hath duggen a grave by the darksome yew,
(One grave will do for four.)

No moon in the still heaven,
In the black water none,
The sins on her soul are seven,
The sin upon his is one.

670

Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Irae Sung In The Sistine Chapel

Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring,
Sad olive-groves, or silver-breasted dove,
Teach me more clearly of Thy life and love
Than terrors of red flame and thundering.
The hillside vines dear memories of Thee bring:
A bird at evening flying to its nest
Tells me of One who had no place of rest:
I think it is of Thee the sparrows sing.
Come rather on some autumn afternoon,
When red and brown are burnished on the leaves,
And the fields echo to the gleaner's song,
Come when the splendid fulness of the moon
Looks down upon the rows of golden sheaves,
And reap Thy harvest: we have waited long.

627

Symphony in Yellow

An omnibus across the bridge
Crawls like a yellow butterfly
And, here and there, a passer-by
Shows like a little restless midge.

Big barges full of yellow hay
Are moored against the shadowy wharf,
And, like a yellow silken scarf,
The thick fog hangs along the quay.

The yellow leaves begin to fade
And flutter from the Temple elms,
And at my feet the pale green Thames
Lies like a rod of rippled jade.

734

Silentium Amoris

As often-times the too resplendent sun
Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won
A single ballad from the nightingale,
So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,
And all my sweetest singing out of tune.

And as at dawn across the level mead
On wings impetuous some wind will come,
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed
Which was its only instrument of song,
So my too stormy passions work me wrong,
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.

But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.

729

Sonnet On Approaching Italy

I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned,
Italia, my Italia, at thy name:
And when from out the mountain's heart I came
And saw the land for which my life had yearned,
I laughed as one who some great prize had earned:
And musing on the marvel of thy fame
I watched the day, till marked with wounds of flame
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned.
The pine-trees waved as waves a woman's hair,
And in the orchards every twining spray
Was breaking into flakes of blossoming foam:
But when I knew that far away at Rome
In evil bonds a second Peter lay,
I wept to see the land so very fair.

TURIN.

633

Serenade (For Music)

The western wind is blowing fair
Across the dark AEgean sea,
And at the secret marble stair
My Tyrian galley waits for thee.
Come down! the purple sail is spread,
The watchman sleeps within the town,
O leave thy lily-flowered bed,
O Lady mine come down, come down!

She will not come, I know her well,
Of lover's vows she hath no care,
And little good a man can tell
Of one so cruel and so fair.
True love is but a woman's toy,
They never know the lover's pain,
And I who loved as loves a boy
Must love in vain, must love in vain.

O noble pilot, tell me true,
Is that the sheen of golden hair?
Or is it but the tangled dew
That binds the passion-flowers there?
Good sailor come and tell me now
Is that my Lady's lily hand?
Or is it but the gleaming prow,
Or is it but the silver sand?

No! no! 'tis not the tangled dew,
'Tis not the silver-fretted sand,
It is my own dear Lady true
With golden hair and lily hand!
O noble pilot, steer for Troy,
Good sailor, ply the labouring oar,
This is the Queen of life and joy
Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!

The waning sky grows faint and blue,
It wants an hour still of day,
Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew,
O Lady mine, away! away!
O noble pilot, steer for Troy,
Good sailor, ply the labouring oar,
O loved as only loves a boy!
O loved for ever evermore!

1,577

Santa Decca

The Gods are dead: no longer do we bring
To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves!
Demeter's child no more hath tithe of sheaves,
And in the noon the careless shepherds sing,
For Pan is dead, and all the wantoning
By secret glade and devious haunt is o'er:
Young Hylas seeks the water-springs no more;
Great Pan is dead, and Mary's son is King.

And yet - perchance in this sea-tranced isle,
Chewing the bitter fruit of memory,
Some God lies hidden in the asphodel.
Ah Love! if such there be, then it were well
For us to fly his anger: nay, but see,
The leaves are stirring: let us watch awhile.

CORFU.

726

San Miniato

See, I have climbed the mountain side
Up to this holy house of God,
Where once that Angel-Painter trod
Who saw the heavens opened wide,

And throned upon the crescent moon
The Virginal white Queen of Grace, -
Mary! could I but see thy face
Death could not come at all too soon.

O crowned by God with thorns and pain!
Mother of Christ! O mystic wife!
My heart is weary of this life
And over-sad to sing again.

O crowned by God with love and flame!
O crowned by Christ the Holy One!
O listen ere the searching sun
Show to the world my sin and shame.

608

Comments (0)

Log in to post a comment.

NoComments

Identification and basic context

Oscar Wilde was an Irish poet, playwright, novelist, and critic. He is renowned for his sharp wit, flamboyant personality, and his advocacy of the aesthetic movement.

Childhood and education

Wilde was born into a prominent Anglo-Irish family. His father was a surgeon and his mother a poet and nationalist. He received a classical education at Trinity College, Dublin, and later at Magdalen College, Oxford, where he excelled in classical studies and developed his aesthetic theories.

Literary trajectory

Wilde's literary career began with poetry, notably his collection 'Poems' (1881). He gained significant fame as a playwright with works like 'The Importance of Being Earnest' and 'Salomé'. His novel 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' (1890) also garnered attention. He was a prominent figure in the Aesthetic and Decadent movements.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Wilde's most famous works include 'The Picture of Dorian Gray', 'The Importance of Being Earnest', 'An Ideal Husband', and 'A Woman of No Importance'. His style is characterized by epigrammatic wit, paradox, lyrical beauty, and a focus on aestheticism. Themes explored include beauty, art, morality, hypocrisy, and the duality of human nature. He often used satire to critique Victorian society.

Cultural and historical context

Wilde lived during the late Victorian era in Britain, a period of great industrial change, social reform, and imperial expansion, but also of strict social codes and moral hypocrisy. He was a prominent voice of the Aesthetic movement, which challenged the utilitarian and moralistic views of art prevalent at the time. He was a contemporary of writers like Algernon Charles Swinburne and Walter Pater.

Personal life

Wilde's personal life was marked by his marriage to Constance Lloyd, with whom he had two sons. He also had a notorious relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas, which ultimately led to his downfall. His flamboyant lifestyle and outspoken views on art and morality set him apart from conventional society.

Recognition and reception

Wilde achieved considerable fame during his lifetime, becoming a celebrated figure in London society. However, his trial for gross indecency in 1895 led to his imprisonment and public disgrace, severely damaging his reputation. Posthumously, his work has been re-evaluated, and he is now recognized as a major literary figure of the 19th century.

Influences and legacy

Wilde was influenced by Romantic poets and French Symbolists. His emphasis on beauty and art for art's sake, his wit, and his critique of social conventions have influenced numerous writers and artists. He is considered a key figure in the development of modern drama and aesthetic theory.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Wilde's work is often analyzed through the lens of aestheticism, dandyism, and his critique of Victorian morality. His life and work continue to be debated, particularly concerning his persecution and the relationship between art and life.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Wilde famously declared, "I have put my genius into my life; I have put only my talent into my works." He was known for his elaborate dress and his love of paradox. His famous green carnation became a symbol of the aesthetic movement.

Death and memory

Oscar Wilde died in exile in Paris in 1900. His tomb in Père Lachaise Cemetery is a popular tourist destination. His literary and cultural significance has endured, and he remains a celebrated figure for his wit and artistic contributions.