Oscar Wilde

(1854-1900 / Dublin / Ireland)

Oscar Wilde Poems

81. Symphony In Yellow 1/3/2003
82. Tadium Vita 5/18/2001
83. Taedium Vitae 1/3/2003
84. The Artist 2/9/2015
85. The Ballad Of Reading Gaol 5/18/2001
86. The Ballad Of Reading Gaol (Version II) 4/1/2010
87. The Burden Of Itys 5/18/2001
88. The Disciple 4/1/2010
89. The Doer Of Good 4/1/2010
90. The Dole Of The King's Daughter (Breton) 1/3/2003
91. The Garden Of Eros 5/18/2001
92. The Grave Of Keats 5/18/2001
93. The Grave Of Shelley 5/18/2001
94. The Harlot's House 1/3/2003
95. The House Of Judgement 4/1/2010
96. The Master 4/1/2010
97. The New Helen 5/18/2001
98. The New Remorse 1/3/2003
99. The Sphinx 1/3/2003
100. The Teacher Of Wisdom 4/1/2010
101. The True Knowledge 1/3/2003
102. Theocritus 5/18/2001
103. Theoretikos 5/18/2001
104. To Milton 5/18/2001
105. To My Wife 1/3/2003
106. Tristitiae 1/3/2003
107. Under The Balcony 1/3/2003
108. Urbs Sacra Æterna 5/18/2001
109. Vita Nuova 5/18/2001
110. We Are Made One with What We Touch and See 4/20/2015

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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