Oscar Wilde

(1854-1900 / Dublin / Ireland)

Oscar Wilde Poems

81. E Tenebris 5/18/2001
82. From Spring Days To Winter (For Music) 1/3/2003
83. The Grave Of Shelley 5/18/2001
84. The Grave Of Keats 5/18/2001
85. Helas! 5/18/2001
86. Chanson 5/18/2001
87. The True Knowledge 1/3/2003
88. Roses And Rue 1/3/2003
89. Easter Day 5/18/2001
90. By The Arno 5/18/2001
91. Greece 1/3/2003
92. The Harlot's House 1/3/2003
93. Ravenna 1/3/2003
94. Desespoir 1/3/2003
95. Requiescat 5/18/2001
96. At Verona 5/18/2001
97. My Voice 5/18/2001
98. To My Wife 1/3/2003
99. A Fragment 4/1/2010
100. In The Forest 1/3/2003
101. Symphony In Yellow 1/3/2003
102. Camma 5/18/2001
103. A Lament 4/1/2010
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. Flower Of Love 1/3/2003
109. A Vision 5/18/2001
110. Her Voice 5/18/2001

Comments about Oscar Wilde

  • 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...!

    62 person liked.
    65 person did not like.
  • 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

Rome Unvisited

THE corn has turned from grey to red,
Since first my spirit wandered forth
From the drear cities of the north,
And to Italia's mountains fled.

And here I set my face towards home,
For all my pilgrimage is done,
Although, methinks, yon blood-red sun

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