Oscar Wilde

(1854-1900 / Dublin / Ireland)

A Lament


O well for him who lives at ease
With garnered gold in wide domain,
Nor heeds the splashing of the rain,
The crashing down of forest trees. -
O well for him who ne'er hath known
The travail of the hungry years,
A father grey with grief and tears,
A mother weeping all alone. -
But well for him whose feet hath trod
The weary road of toil and strife,
Yet from the sorrows of his life
Builds ladders to be nearer God.

Submitted: Thursday, April 01, 2010

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  • Rookie - 224 Points Joe Breunig (1/9/2014 9:50:00 AM)

    A delightful piece; title doesn't do this poem justice; I'd suggest to be nearer..., but I know that he is deceased.

    -Joe Breunig,
    Reaching Towards His Unbounded Glory (Report) Reply

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