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Oscar Wilde

A poem by Oscar Wilde: Phedre

Phedre (To Sarah Bernhardt) How vain and dull this common world must seem To such a One as thou, who should’st have talked At Florence with Mirandola, or walked Through the cool olives of the Academe: Thou should’st have gathered ...

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A poem by Oscar Wilde: PHDRE

PHDRE How vain and dull this common world must seem To such a One as thou, who should’st have talked At Florence with Mirandola, or walked Through the cool olives of the Academe: Thou should’st have gathered reeds from a ...

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A poem by Oscar Wilde: Panthea

  Panthea   NAY, let us walk from fire unto fire, From passionate pain to deadlier delight,– I am too young to live without desire, Too young art thou to waste this summer night Asking those idle questions which of ...

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A poem by Oscar Wilde: Pan

  Pan 1. O goat-foot God of Arcady! This modern world is grey and old, And what remains to us of thee? No more the shepherd lads in glee Throw apples at thy wattled fold, O goat-foot God of Arcady! ...

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A poem by Oscar Wilde : My Voice

My Voice WITHIN this restless, hurried, modern world We took our hearts’ full pleasure–You and I, And now the white sails of our ship are furled, And spent the lading of our argosy. Wherefore my cheeks before their time are ...

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A poem by Oscar Wilde : Madonna Mia

Madonna Mia A LILY-GIRL, not made for this world’s pain, With brown, soft hair close braided by her ears, And longing eyes half veiled by slumberous tears Like bluest water seen through mists of rain: Pale cheeks whereon no love ...

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A poem by Oscar Wilde : Les Ballons

Les Ballons Against these turbid turquoise skies The light and luminous balloons Dip and drift like satin moons Drift like silken butterflies; Reel with every windy gust, Rise and reel like dancing girls, Float like strange transparent pearls, Fall and ...

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A poem by Oscar Wilde : Le Panneau

Le Panneau Under the rose-tree’s dancing shade There stands a little ivory girl, Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl With pale green nails of polished jade. The red leaves fall upon the mould, The white leaves flutter, one by ...

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A poem by Oscar Wilde : Le Jardin

Le Jardin The lily’s withered chalice falls Around its rod of dusty gold, And from the beech-trees on the wold The last wood-pigeon coos and calls. The gaudy leonine sunflower Hangs black and barren on its stalk, And down the ...

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