Oscar Wilde

(1854-1900 / Dublin / Ireland)

Oscar Wilde Poems

81. Impression Du Matin 5/18/2001
82. The Teacher Of Wisdom 4/1/2010
83. From Spring Days To Winter (For Music) 1/3/2003
84. Sonnet To Liberty 5/18/2001
85. Ravenna 1/3/2003
86. The Disciple 4/1/2010
87. Requiescat 5/18/2001
88. Chanson 5/18/2001
89. Roses And Rue 1/3/2003
90. The Artist 2/9/2015
91. At Verona 5/18/2001
92. Greece 1/3/2003
93. Ava Maria Plena Gratia 5/18/2001
94. My Voice 5/18/2001
95. Desespoir 1/3/2003
96. Camma 5/18/2001
97. The True Knowledge 1/3/2003
98. Easter Day 5/18/2001
99. A Lament 4/1/2010
100. Apologia 5/18/2001
101. Symphony In Yellow 1/3/2003
102. In The Forest 1/3/2003
103. Amor Intellectualis 5/18/2001
104. To My Wife 1/3/2003
105. A Fragment 4/1/2010
106. The Harlot's House 1/3/2003
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

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

    Sounds as if he is quoting Dante.

    23 person liked.
    44 person did not like.
  • 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

Quantum Mutata

THERE was a time in Europe long ago
When no man died for freedom anywhere,
But England's lion leaping from its lair
Laid hands on the oppressor! it was so
While England could a great Republic show.
Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest care
Of Cromwell, when with impotent despair
The Pontiff in his painted portico
Trembled before our stern ambassadors.

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