Oscar Wilde

(1854-1900 / Dublin / Ireland)

Oscar Wilde Poems

81. The Grave Of Shelley 5/18/2001
82. The Grave Of Keats 5/18/2001
83. Endymion 5/18/2001
84. Athanasia 1/3/2003
85. Helas! 5/18/2001
86. Sonnet To Liberty 5/18/2001
87. The True Knowledge 1/3/2003
88. The Harlot's House 1/3/2003
89. By The Arno 5/18/2001
90. Ravenna 1/3/2003
91. Greece 1/3/2003
92. Chanson 5/18/2001
93. Easter Day 5/18/2001
94. A Fragment 4/1/2010
95. At Verona 5/18/2001
96. Desespoir 1/3/2003
97. To My Wife 1/3/2003
98. My Voice 5/18/2001
99. Requiescat 5/18/2001
100. In The Forest 1/3/2003
101. A Lament 4/1/2010
102. Camma 5/18/2001
103. Symphony In Yellow 1/3/2003
104. Ava Maria Plena Gratia 5/18/2001
105. Apologia 5/18/2001
106. Amor Intellectualis 5/18/2001
107. The Ballad Of Reading Gaol 5/18/2001
108. A Vision 5/18/2001
109. Flower Of Love 1/3/2003
110. Her Voice 5/18/2001

Comments about Oscar Wilde

  • vijay Tiwari (10/7/2015 4:13:00 PM)

    Oscar wilde is still the Lord of Language no budy could ever replace him.

    27 person liked.
    23 person did not like.
  • Annette Adams (12/21/2014 2:32:00 AM)

    His imagery and diction, everything is so extravagant and incredible. He will always remain as one of my favorites.

  • David H. Partington (5/9/2014 2:56:00 PM)

    Sounds as if he is quoting Dante.

  • Sylva Portoian Sylva Portoian (7/21/2012 12:49:00 AM)

    Every person has some genius-ness in his cells...
    brain...hands or body...
    Needs the chance to appear
    Needs the luck...
    You have...I have
    As small as it can be
    Even very small
    It is still geniusty...!

  • T.P. Edwards (10/12/2007 6:26:00 PM)

    Wilde cryptic word spinning to somewhere in nowhere.
    He was no genius, a bewildered poet who thought he was a genius.
    Did the poem liberate him or anyone from its cage of flowery words bespeckled with Greek gods and goddesses?
    I tend to doubt it. A love for his own intellect, displayful of a pruriant pride in pining.

  • SS BAGHELA (10/4/2005 9:23:00 AM)

    He was a literary genius. I enjoy his poetry immensely. Conspirative Nature stole his life prematurely.

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

Santa Decca

THE Gods are dead: no longer do we bring
To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves!
Demeter's child no more hath tithe of sheaves,
And in the noon the careless shepherds sing,
For Pan is dead, and all the wantoning
By secret glade and devious haunt is o'er:
Young Hylas seeks the water-springs no more;
Great Pan is dead, and Mary's Son is King.

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