Oscar Wilde

(1854-1900 / Dublin / Ireland)

Oscar Wilde Poems

1. The House Of Judgement 4/1/2010
2. We Are Made One with What We Touch and See 4/20/2015
3. The Artist 2/9/2015
4. Salve Saturnia Tellus 1/3/2003
5. Queen Henrietta Maria 5/18/2001
6. Le Reveillon 5/18/2001
7. Sonnet Written In Holy Week At Genoa 12/31/2002
8. Quia Multum Amavi 5/18/2001
9. Tristitiae 1/3/2003
10. Louis Napoleon 5/18/2001
11. Le Panneau 1/3/2003
12. Libertatis Sacra Fames 5/18/2001
13. The Burden Of Itys 5/18/2001
14. Tadium Vita 5/18/2001
15. Rome Unvisited 5/18/2001
16. On The Massacre Of The Christians In Bulgaria 1/3/2003
17. The Dole Of The King's Daughter (Breton) 1/3/2003
18. San Miniato 5/18/2001
19. Impressions I. Les Silhouettes 5/18/2001
20. Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Irae Sung In The Sistine Chapel 1/3/2003
21. Le Jardin Des Tuileries 1/3/2003
22. Fabien Dei Franchi 5/18/2001
23. Theocritus 5/18/2001
24. Sonnet On Approaching Italy 5/18/2001
25. Santa Decca 5/18/2001
26. The New Helen 5/18/2001
27. To Milton 5/18/2001
28. Under The Balcony 1/3/2003
29. Taedium Vitae 1/3/2003
30. Italia 5/18/2001
31. Urbs Sacra Æterna 5/18/2001
32. Impression Du Voyage 5/18/2001
33. Quantum Mutata 5/18/2001
34. The Doer Of Good 4/1/2010
35. Phedre 1/3/2003
36. Impressions Ii. La Fuite De La Lune 5/18/2001
37. A Villanelle 4/1/2010
38. Theoretikos 5/18/2001
39. Magdalen Walks 5/18/2001
40. The Master 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

Santa Decca

THE Gods are dead: no longer do we bring
To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves!
Demeter's child no more hath tithe of sheaves,
And in the noon the careless shepherds sing,
For Pan is dead, and all the wantoning
By secret glade and devious haunt is o'er:
Young Hylas seeks the water-springs no more;
Great Pan is dead, and Mary's Son is King.

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