Lady Jane Wilde
Lady Jane Wilde Poems
|81.||Dedication To Ireland||8/2/2012|
|83.||France In '93||8/2/2012|
|84.||The Old Man's Blessing||8/2/2012|
|85.||The Dying Christian||8/2/2012|
|86.||Sympathies With The Universal||8/2/2012|
|88.||A Lament For The Potato||8/2/2012|
|89.||La Via Dolorosa||8/2/2012|
|90.||Why Weepest Thou?||8/2/2012|
|92.||The Famine Year||8/2/2012|
|93.||Tristan And Isolde. The Love Sin.||8/2/2012|
Comments about Lady Jane Wilde
Tristan And Isolde. The Love Sin.
None, unless the saints above,
Knew the secret of their love;
For with calm and stately grace
Isolde held her queenly place,
Tho’ the courtiers’ hundred eyes
Sought the lovers to surprise,
Or to read the mysteries
Of a love—so rumour said
By a magic philtre fed,
Which for ever in their veins
Burn’d with love’s consuming pains.
Yet their hands would twine unseen,
In a clasp ’twere hard to sever;
And whoso watched their glances meet,
Gazing as they’d gaze for ever,
Might have marked the sudden heat
Crims’ning on each flushing cheek,
As the ...
Pale victims, where is your Fatherland?
Where oppression is law from age to age,
Where the death‐plague, and hunger, and misery rage,
And tyrants a godless warfare wage
'Gainst the holiest rights of an ancient land.
Where the corn waves green on the fair hillside,
But each sheaf by the serfs and slavelings tied
Is taken to pamper a foreigner's pride—
There is our suffering Fatherland.