Ballad of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde
page 39 of 220 (17%)
page 39 of 220 (17%)
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No sullen-blooming poppies stain thy hair,
Those scarlet heralds of eternal sleep. Lily of love, pure and inviolate! Tower of ivory! red rose of fire! Thou hast come down our darkness to illume: For we, close-caught in the wide nets of Fate, Wearied with waiting for the World's Desire, Aimlessly wandered in the House of gloom, Aimlessly sought some slumberous anodyne For wasted lives, for lingering wretchedness, Till we beheld thy re-arisen shrine, And the white glory of thy loveliness. Poem: The Burden Of Itys This English Thames is holier far than Rome, Those harebells like a sudden flush of sea Breaking across the woodland, with the foam Of meadow-sweet and white anemone To fleck their blue waves,--God is likelier there Than hidden in that crystal-hearted star the pale monks bear! Those violet-gleaming butterflies that take Yon creamy lily for their pavilion Are monsignores, and where the rushes shake |
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