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Flower Of Love - Poem by Oscar Wilde

Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common
clay
I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the
larger day.

From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song,
Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong.

Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed,
You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled meed.

I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine,
Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.

And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without
name,
And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of
Fame.

I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young,
And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung.

Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine,
With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in
mine.

And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the
dove,
Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love;

Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart,
Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.

For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth,
And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth.

Yet I am not sorry that I loved you -ah! what else had I a boy to do? -
For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.

Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is
past,
Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.

And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the
root,
And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.

Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God's own mother was less dear to me,
And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea.

I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in
wasted days,
I have found the lover's crown of myrtle better than the poet's crown of bays.


Comments about Flower Of Love by Oscar Wilde

  • Rookie Sherry Chen (1/29/2020 7:25:00 PM)

    This is a very lovely poem about flowers, and i really appreciate it. (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Silver Star - 3,444 Points Sarah Shahzad (1/14/2020 1:16:00 AM)

    This is a very well written poem. I really appreciate it. Thanks for sharing this... :) pleez do comment/ review/ write your thoughts on my website & poems 2 thank you :) (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Rookie jackey (9/8/2019 1:45:00 AM)

    this is a beautiful poem about flowers (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Rookie Susana Velasquez (3/12/2019 8:48:00 PM)

    MMM MMM MMM... This Poem Made Me Want To Eat At Captain Kutchie's Key West Bar and Grill.e Their Key Lime Pies Are Heaven On Earth! Jimmy Buffett Himself Was So Inspired By The Restaurant That He Ended Up Writing A Song In Its Liking! Watching Anita And Kutchie Pelaez At Their Key Lime Pie Factory And Grill In Asheville Baking These Pies Will Make Your Mouth Water. Mrs. Anita Is No Act... She’s The Real Deal! (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Rookie Aastha (2/19/2019 8:37:00 AM)

    Sooooooo big (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Rookie Abdou (12/9/2018 11:08:00 AM)

    Bleeding sensations (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Rookie Aishwarya (12/4/2018 9:16:00 PM)

    Good one Mr.Wilde (Report) Reply

    2 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • Rookie sdfihwhef (9/6/2018 11:07:00 PM)

    u suck fgmodfhbotdgtdgfdgiojoigfdiohgiofdigtihijthjitjhijihjytpihjytpkjkjjjnjgjgjjgjgjgjgjjgjgjjgjirklfbkfhfhb (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    20 person did not like.
  • Rookie Tejashwi Kumar (7/31/2018 5:22:00 AM)

    this was the best one (Report) Reply

    7 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • Rookie Micah (7/9/2018 2:30:00 PM)

    Nice poem Mr. Wilde😆 (Report) Reply

    6 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
Read all 28 comments »
Flower Poems
  1. 1. Flower Of Love
    Oscar Wilde
  2. 2. Flower
    Rabindranath Tagore
  3. 3. Flower-Gathering
    Robert Frost
  4. 4. The Force That Through The Green Fuse Dr..
    Dylan Thomas
  5. 5. Fruit Of The Flower
    Countee Cullen
  6. 6. The Flower
    Alfred Lord Tennyson
  7. 7. A Red Flower
    Claude McKay
  8. 8. The Flower-School
    Rabindranath Tagore
  9. 9. A Flower Given To My Daughter
    James Joyce
  10. 10. Flower Of Love
    Claude McKay
  11. 11. Song Of The Flower Xxiii
    Khalil Gibran
  12. 12. (my Beautiful Flower)
    Allen Steble
  13. 13. A Flower In The Rain
    Robert Rorabeck
  14. 14. Asphodel, That Greeny Flower
    William Carlos Williams
  15. 15. The Flower Boat
    Robert Frost
  16. 16. Flower God, God Of The Spring
    Robert Louis Stevenson
  17. 17. Climbing West Of Lotus Flower Peak
    Li Po
  18. 18. A Word And A Flower
    Sandra Fowler
  19. 19. The Faded Flower
    Samuel Taylor Coleridge
  20. 20. November Cotton Flower
    Jean Toomer
  21. 21. Chelsea Flower Show
    Ernestine Northover
  22. 22. The Flower Of Liberty
    Oliver Wendell Holmes
  23. 23. As If Some Little Arctic Flower
    Emily Dickinson
  24. 24. Autumn Flower
    Hebert Logerie
  25. 25. - A Little Flower -
    Dmitriy Kokarev
  26. 26. A Flower Girl
    Per. Nig.
  27. 27. The Easter Flower
    Claude McKay
  28. 28. The Flower
    George Herbert
  29. 29. Where The Passion Flower Grows
    Charles M Moore
  30. 30. Soldier, Maiden, And Flower
    Eugene Field
  31. 31. The Chanpa Flower
    Rabindranath Tagore
  32. 32. By A Flower—by A Letter
    Emily Dickinson
  33. 33. The Gardener Lvii: I Plucked Your Flower
    Rabindranath Tagore
  34. 34. ! A Flower Is A Flower !
    Linda Ori
  35. 35. The Flower-Fed Buffaloes
    Vachel Lindsay
  36. 36. A Flower-Piece By Fantin
    Algernon Charles Swinburne
  37. 37. Having Misidentified A Wild-Flower
    Richard Wilbur
  38. 38. I Hide Myself Within My Flower
    Emily Dickinson
  39. 39. Flower
    Olivia Taylor
  40. 40. A Flower For You
    Antonio Liao
  41. 41. Delia Xxxiii: When Men Shall Find Thy Fl..
    Samuel Daniel
  42. 42. Flower-Salute
    Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
  43. 43. Hugo's "Flower To Butterfly"
    Eugene Field
  44. 44. The Beauteous Flower - Son Of The Impris..
    Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
  45. 45. Flower-Life
    Henry Timrod
  46. 46. The Flower Of Mending
    Vachel Lindsay
  47. 47. Flower To Flower
    Kranthi Pothineni
  48. 48. Rose Of Roses And Flower Of Flowers,
    Alfonso X El Sabio
  49. 49. A Cactus Flower
    nimal dunuhinga
  50. 50. Lotus Flower
    George Murdock

New Flower Poems

  1. Precious Flower, Mark Heathcote
  2. Chacha Nehru, Vidya Murali
  3. Rose Is, KAVIN CHARALAN
  4. A Real Flower, Prabir Gayen
  5. Ambassadors Of God, Ray A. James
  6. Red Flower Far Away, Edward Kofi Louis
  7. A Flower Is Relatively Small, Alexandre Nodopaka
  8. A New Flower, ROCHISH MON
  9. Oddity Nature Creation, Clinton Siegle
  10. Prose In Art Form, Gayathri B. Seetharam

Flower Poems

  1. The Force That Through The Green Fuse Drives The Flower

    The force that through the green fuse drives the flower Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees Is my destroyer. And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose My youth is bent by the same wintry fever. The force that drives the water through the rocks Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams Turns mine to wax. And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks. The hand that whirls the water in the pool Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind Hauls my shroud sail. And I am dumb to tell the hanging man How of my clay is made the hangman's lime. The lips of time leech to the fountain head; Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood Shall calm her sores. And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind How time has ticked a heaven round the stars. And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

  2. Fruit Of The Flower

    My father is a quiet man With sober, steady ways; For simile, a folded fan; His nights are like his days. My mother's life is puritan, No hint of cavalier, A pool so calm you're sure it can Have little depth to fear. And yet my father's eyes can boast How full his life has been; There haunts them yet the languid ghost Of some still sacred sin. And though my mother chants of God, And of the mystic river, I've seen a bit of checkered sod Set all her flesh aquiver. Why should he deem it pure mischance A son of his is fain To do a naked tribal dance Each time he hears the rain? Why should she think it devil's art That all my songs should be Of love and lovers, broken heart, And wild sweet agony? Who plants a seed begets a bud, Extract of that same root; Why marvel at the hectic blood That flushes this wild fruit?

  3. Flower-Gathering

    I left you in the morning, And in the morning glow, You walked a way beside me To make me sad to go. Do you know me in the gloaming, Gaunt and dusty gray with roaming? Are you dumb because you know me not, Or dumb because you know? All for me And not a question For the faded flowers gay That could take me from beside you For the ages of a day? They are yours, and be the measure Of their worth for you to treasure, The measure of the little while That I've been long away.

  4. Flower

    Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it droop and drop into the dust. I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of pain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest the day end before I am aware, and the time of offering go by. Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this flower in thy service and pluck it while there is time.

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