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(1854-1900 / Dublin / Ireland)

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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 knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone
She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

AVIGNON.

Submitted: Friday, May 18, 2001
Edited: Friday, May 18, 2001


Read poems about / on: sonnet, snow, peace, woman, hair, alone, heart, life, women

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Comments about this poem (Ballade De Marguerite by Oscar Wilde )

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  • Jenevieve Larcombe (8/2/2011 6:44:00 PM)

    My favourite of his.

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