Oscar Wilde

(1854-1900 / Dublin / Ireland)

Desespoir - Poem by Oscar Wilde

The seasons send their ruin as they go,
For in the spring the narciss shows its head
Nor withers till the rose has flamed to red,
And in the autumn purple violets blow,
And the slim crocus stirs the winter snow;
Wherefore yon leafless trees will bloom again
And this grey land grow green with summer rain
And send up cowslips for some boy to mow.

But what of life whose bitter hungry sea
Flows at our heels, and gloom of sunless night
Covers the days which never more return?
Ambition, love and all the thoughts that burn
We lose too soon, and only find delight
In withered husks of some dead memory.

Comments about Desespoir by Oscar Wilde

  • (2/25/2017 3:43:00 PM)

    Nature is timeless but desperately life is not (Report)Reply

    1 person liked.
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  • (2/24/2017 5:37:00 PM)

    The beauty of life is all too short (Report)Reply

    1 person liked.
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Read poems about / on: autumn, purple, memory, winter, snow, summer, spring, rose, rain, green, red, sea, night, life, lost, tree

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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