Oscar Wilde

(1854-1900 / Dublin / Ireland)

Oscar Wilde Poems

1. The House Of Judgement 4/1/2010
2. Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring 5/6/2015
3. We Are Made One with What We Touch and See 4/20/2015
4. The Artist 2/9/2015
5. Salve Saturnia Tellus 1/3/2003
6. Sonnet Written In Holy Week At Genoa 12/31/2002
7. Louis Napoleon 5/18/2001
8. Tadium Vita 5/18/2001
9. Le Panneau 1/3/2003
10. On The Massacre Of The Christians In Bulgaria 1/3/2003
11. Queen Henrietta Maria 5/18/2001
12. Quia Multum Amavi 5/18/2001
13. Le Reveillon 5/18/2001
14. The Burden Of Itys 5/18/2001
15. Rome Unvisited 5/18/2001
16. Theocritus 5/18/2001
17. Santa Decca 5/18/2001
18. The Dole Of The King's Daughter (Breton) 1/3/2003
19. Sonnet On Approaching Italy 5/18/2001
20. Quantum Mutata 5/18/2001
21. San Miniato 5/18/2001
22. Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Irae Sung In The Sistine Chapel 1/3/2003
23. Libertatis Sacra Fames 5/18/2001
24. Fabien Dei Franchi 5/18/2001
25. To Milton 5/18/2001
26. Portia 5/18/2001
27. Tristitiae 1/3/2003
28. A Villanelle 4/1/2010
29. Impressions I. Les Silhouettes 5/18/2001
30. Le Jardin Des Tuileries 1/3/2003
31. The Disciple 4/1/2010
32. The Doer Of Good 4/1/2010
33. On Easter Day 1/3/2003
34. Taedium Vitae 1/3/2003
35. Impression Du Voyage 5/18/2001
36. Phedre 1/3/2003
37. Magdalen Walks 5/18/2001
38. The Master 4/1/2010
39. Urbs Sacra Æterna 5/18/2001
40. The Teacher Of Wisdom 4/1/2010
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

I.
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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