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Oscar Wilde

A poem by Oscar Wilde: Requiescat

Requiescat TREAD lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust. Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly ...

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A poem by Oscar Wilde: Ravenna

Ravenna To my friend George Fleming author of ‘The Nile Novel’ and ‘Mirage’) I. A year ago I breathed the Italian air, – And yet, methinks this northern Spring is fair,- These fields made golden with the flower of March, ...

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A poem by Oscar Wilde: Portia

Portia I MARVEL not Bassanio was so bold To peril all he had upon the lead, Or that proud Aragon bent low his head, Or that Morocco’s fiery heart grew cold: For in that gorgeous dress of beaten gold Which ...

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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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