poet Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde

#61 on top 500 poets

On The Sale By Auction Of Keats' Love Letters

These are the letters which Endymion wrote
To one he loved in secret and apart,
And now the brawlers of the auction-mart
Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note,
Aye! for each separate pulse of passion quote
The merchant's price! I think they love not art
Who break the crystal of a poet's heart,
That small and sickly eyes may glare or gloat.
Is it not said, that many years ago,
In a far Eastern town some soldiers ran
With torches through the midnight, and began
To wrangle for mean raiment, and to throw
Dice for the garments of a wretched man,
Not knowing the God's wonder, or his woe?

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003
Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 14, 2014

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Read poems about / on: passion, god, heart, soldier, running