Oscar Wilde

(1854-1900 / Dublin / Ireland)

Oscar Wilde Poems

1. Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring 5/6/2015
2. We Are Made One with What We Touch and See 4/20/2015
3. The House Of Judgement 4/1/2010
4. The Artist 2/9/2015
5. Salve Saturnia Tellus 1/3/2003
6. Queen Henrietta Maria 5/18/2001
7. Rome Unvisited 5/18/2001
8. Le Reveillon 5/18/2001
9. Louis Napoleon 5/18/2001
10. Tadium Vita 5/18/2001
11. Sonnet Written In Holy Week At Genoa 12/31/2002
12. Quia Multum Amavi 5/18/2001
13. Theocritus 5/18/2001
14. Tristitiae 1/3/2003
15. On The Massacre Of The Christians In Bulgaria 1/3/2003
16. Libertatis Sacra Fames 5/18/2001
17. Sonnet On Approaching Italy 5/18/2001
18. To Milton 5/18/2001
19. The Disciple 4/1/2010
20. Impressions I. Les Silhouettes 5/18/2001
21. The Doer Of Good 4/1/2010
22. Le Jardin Des Tuileries 1/3/2003
23. Impression Du Voyage 5/18/2001
24. Santa Decca 5/18/2001
25. A Villanelle 4/1/2010
26. Le Panneau 1/3/2003
27. The Dole Of The King's Daughter (Breton) 1/3/2003
28. Quantum Mutata 5/18/2001
29. San Miniato 5/18/2001
30. Impressions Ii. La Fuite De La Lune 5/18/2001
31. Theoretikos 5/18/2001
32. Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Irae Sung In The Sistine Chapel 1/3/2003
33. Urbs Sacra Æterna 5/18/2001
34. Impression De Voyage 1/3/2003
35. Fabien Dei Franchi 5/18/2001
36. Les Ballons 1/3/2003
37. The Burden Of Itys 5/18/2001
38. Portia 5/18/2001
39. Le Jardin 1/3/2003
40. On The Sale By Auction Of Keats' Love Letters 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Oscar Wilde

Her Voice

THE wild bee reels from bough to bough
With his furry coat and his gauzy wing.
Now in a lily-cup, and now
Setting a jacinth bell a-swing,
In his wandering;
Sit closer love: it was here I trow
I made that vow,

Swore that two lives should be like one
As long as the sea-gull loved the sea,
As long as the sunflower sought the sun,--
It shall be, I said, for eternity
...

Read the full of Her Voice

Rome Unvisited

I.
THE corn has turned from grey to red,
Since first my spirit wandered forth
From the drear cities of the north,
And to Italia's mountains fled.

And here I set my face towards home,
For all my pilgrimage is done,
Although, methinks, yon blood-red sun

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