Oscar Wilde

(1854-1900 / Dublin / Ireland)

Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Irae Sung In The Sistine Chapel - Poem by Oscar Wilde

Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring,
Sad olive-groves, or silver-breasted dove,
Teach me more clearly of Thy life and love
Than terrors of red flame and thundering.
The hillside vines dear memories of Thee bring:
A bird at evening flying to its nest
Tells me of One who had no place of rest:
I think it is of Thee the sparrows sing.
Come rather on some autumn afternoon,
When red and brown are burnished on the leaves,
And the fields echo to the gleaner's song,
Come when the splendid fulness of the moon
Looks down upon the rows of golden sheaves,
And reap Thy harvest: we have waited long.


Comments about Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Irae Sung In The Sistine Chapel by Oscar Wilde

  • Mizzy ........ (9/1/2016 12:34:00 PM)


    Another beautiful sonnet from Oscar's skilful pen. (Report) Reply

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  • Fabrizio Frosini (5/17/2016 11:23:00 AM)


    listening to the ''Dies Irae'' while watching Michelangelo's frescoes, in the Sistine Chapel.. I can easily understand Oscar Wild's feelings.. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: autumn, red, silver, sad, spring, moon, song, life, sonnet, memory



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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