READ lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust. Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew. Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone, She is at rest. Peace, peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life's buried here, Heap earth upon it.
satya - 11/25/2016, 12:25:11 PM
Other poems by Oscar Wilde
satya - 11/25/2016, 12:32:28 PM
From By the Arno
The day will make thee silent soon, O nightingale sing on for love! While yet upon the shadowy grove Splinter the arrows of the moon.
satya - 11/25/2016, 12:34:52 PM
what is Arno?
The Arno is a river in the Tuscany region of Italy. It is the most important river of central Italy after ... The Sieve's basin, which flows into the Arno immediately before Florence ....
satya - 11/25/2016, 12:35:52 PM
Full poem: By the Arno
The oleander on the wall Grows crimson in the dawning light, Though the grey shadows of the night Lie yet on Florence like a pall. The dew is bright upon the hill, And bright the blossoms overhead, But ah! the grasshoppers have fled, The little Attic song is still. Only the leaves are gently stirred By the soft breathing of the gale, And in the almond-scented vale The lonely nightingale is heard. The day will make thee silent soon, O nightingale sing on for love! While yet upon the shadowy grove Splinter the arrows of the moon. Before across the silent lawn In sea-green vest the morning steals, And to love's frightened eyes reveals The long white fingers of the dawn. Fast climbing up the eastern sky To grasp and slay the shuddering night, All careless of my heart's delight, Or if the nightingale should die.
satya - 11/25/2016, 3:53:41 PM
HOW vain and dull this common world must seem To such a One as thou, who should?st have talked At Florence with Mirandola, or walked Through the cool olives of the Academe: Thou should?st have gathered reeds from a green stream 5 For Goat-foot Pan?s shrill piping, and have played With the white girls in that Phæacian glade Where grave Odysseus wakened from his dream. Ah! surely once some urn of Attic clay Held thy wan dust, and thou hast come again 10 Back to this common world so dull and vain, For thou wert weary of the sunless day, The heavy fields of scentless asphodel, The loveless lips with which men kiss in Hell.
satya - 11/25/2016, 3:58:48 PM
Phèdre: or Phaedra, wife of Thésée, daughter of Minos and Pasiphaë
Pan: Greek god of nature, wilderness, rustic music
Attica: A place in Greece
Wan - (vaaan) dull, pale color
Asphodel - flowers grown in elysium (heaven in greek mythorlogy)
satya - 11/25/2016, 4:00:26 PM
Phaedra: a painting by Alexandre Cabanel
satya - 11/25/2016, 4:00:36 PM
Alexendre Cabanel paintings