The Complete Poetical Works of Oscar Wilde: 120+ Poems, Ballads, Sonnets & Other Verses: The Ballad Of Reading Gaol, The Sphinx, Ravenna, Canzonet, Chanson, Helas, Charmides, Ave Imperatrix, E Tenebris, Phedre…
By Oscar Wilde
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Ye Shall Be Gods
Ravenna
The True Knowledge
A Lament
Wasted Days
Désespoir
Lotus Leaves
Impressions
Under the Balcony
A Fragment
Le Jardin Des Tuileries
On the Sale by Auction of Keats' Love Letters
The New Remorse
An Inscription
The Harlot's House
The Burden of Itys
Charmides
Eleutheria
Heart's Yearnings
The Little Ship
Ave Imperatrix
To Milton
Louis Napoleon
Sonnet
Quantum Mutata
Libertatis Sacra Fames
Theoretikos
Flowers of Gold
The Grave of Keats
Theocritus
In the Gold Room
Ballade De Marguerite
The Dole of the King's Daughter
Love Song
Tristitiae
Amor Intellectualis
Santa Decca
A Vision
Impression De Voyage
The Grave of Shelley
By the Arno
From Spring Days to Winter
Flower or Love
The Fourth Movement
Impression
Le Reveillon
At Verona
Apologia
Quia Multum Amavi
Silentium Amoris
Her Voice
My Voice
Taedium Vitae
The Garden of Eros
Humanitad
Panthea
Rosa Mystica
Helas
Requiescat
Salve Saturnia Tellus
Sunrise: Symphony in Yellow
The Theatre at Argos
Sen Artysty; Or, The Artist's Dream
Pan - Double Villanelle
San Miniato
Les Balloons
Ave Maria Plena Gratia
To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems
With A Copy Of 'A House Of Pomegranates'
Italia
Sonnet
Rome Unvisited
Urbs Sacra Aeterna
Sonnet
On Hearing the Dies Irae Sung in the Sistine Chapel
Easter Day
E Tenebris
Vita Nuova
Roses and Rue
Madonna Mia
The New Helen
Impressions De Theatre
Fabien Dei Franchi
Phedre
Portia
Queen Henrietta Maria
Camma
Song Of The Clouds
Chorus Of The Cloud-maiden: Antistrophe
Wind Flowers
Impression Du Matin
Magdalen Walks
Athanasia
Serenade
Cry Woe, Woe And Let The Good Prevail
Endymion
La Bella Donna Del Mia Mente
Canzonet
La Dame Jaune
Remorse
Chanson
The Sphinx
In the Forest
The Ballad Of Reading Gaol
Fantaisies Décoratives
Chorus of Cloud Maidens
Untitled (See! the gold sun has risen)
Untitled (She stole behind him where he lay)
ΘPHNΩIΔIA
Lotus Land
Untitled (O loved one lying far away)
A Fragment from the Agamemnon of Aeschylos
Nocturne
La Belle Gabrielle
To V. F.
To M. B. J.
Oscar Wilde
Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde was born on the 16th October 1854 and died on the 30th November 1900. He was an Irish playwright, poet, and author of numerous short stories and one novel. Known for his biting wit, he became one of the most successful playwrights of the late Victorian era in London, and one of the greatest celebrities of his day. Several of his plays continue to be widely performed, especially The Importance of Being Earnest.
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The Complete Poetical Works of Oscar Wilde - Oscar Wilde
Oscar Wilde
The Complete Poetical Works of Oscar Wilde
120+ Poems, Ballads, Sonnets & Other Verses: The Ballad Of Reading Gaol, The Sphinx, Ravenna, Canzonet, Chanson, Helas, Charmides, Ave Imperatrix, E Tenebris, Phedre…
e-artnow, 2019
Contact: info@e-artnow.org
ISBN = 405-76-6412-249-0
Table of Contents
Ye Shall Be Gods
Ravenna
The True Knowledge
A Lament
Wasted Days
Désespoir
Lotus Leaves
Impressions
Under the Balcony
A Fragment
Le Jardin Des Tuileries
On the Sale by Auction of Keats’ Love Letters
The New Remorse
An Inscription
The Harlot’s House
The Burden of Itys
Charmides
Eleutheria
Heart’s Yearnings
The Little Ship
Ave Imperatrix
To Milton
Louis Napoleon
Sonnet
Quantum Mutata
Libertatis Sacra Fames
Theoretikos
Flowers of Gold
The Grave of Keats
Theocritus
In the Gold Room
Ballade De Marguerite
The Dole of the King’s Daughter
Love Song
Tristitiae
Amor Intellectualis
Santa Decca
A Vision
Impression De Voyage
The Grave of Shelley
By the Arno
From Spring Days to Winter
Flower or Love
The Fourth Movement
Impression Le Reveillon
At Verona
Apologia
Quia Multum Amavi
Silentium Amoris
Her Voice
My Voice
Taedium Vitae
The Garden of Eros
Humanitad
Panthea
Rosa Mystica
Helas
Requiescat
Salve Saturnia Tellus
Sunrise: Symphony in Yellow
The Theatre at Argos
Sen Artysty; Or, The Artist’s Dream
Pan - Double Villanelle
San Miniato
Les Balloons
Ave Maria Plena Gratia
To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems
With A Copy Of ‘A House Of Pomegranates’
Italia
Sonnet
Rome Unvisited
Urbs Sacra Aeterna
Sonnet
On Hearing the Dies Irae Sung in the Sistine Chapel
Easter Day
E Tenebris
Vita Nuova
Roses and Rue
To L.L.1
Madonna Mia
The New Helen
Impressions De Theatre
Fabien Dei Franchi
Phedre
Portia
Queen Henrietta Maria
Camma
Song Of The Clouds
Wind Flowers
Impression Du Matin
Magdalen Walks
Athanasia
Serenade
Cry Woe, Woe And Let The Good Prevail
Endymion
La Bella Donna Del Mia Mente
Canzonet
La Dame Jaune
Remorse A Study in Saffron
Chanson
The Sphinx
In the Forest
The Ballad Of Reading Gaol
Fantaisies Décoratives.
Chorus of Cloud Maidens
Untitled (See! the gold sun has risen)
Untitled (She stole behind him where he lay)
ΘPHNΩIΔIA
Lotus Land
Untitled (O loved one lying far away)
A Fragment from the Agamemnon of Aeschylos
Nocturne
La Belle Gabrielle
To V. F.
To M. B. J.
Ye Shall Be Gods
Table of Contents
Before the dividing of days
Or the singing of summer or spring
God from the dust did raise
A splendid and goodly thing:
Man – from the womb of the land,
Man – from the sterile sod
Torn by a terrible hand –
Formed in the image of God.
But the life of man is a sorrow
And death a relief from pain,
For love only lasts till tomorrow
And life without love is vain.
£TPO¦H
And your strength will wither like grass
Scorched by a pitiless sun,
And the might of your hands will pass
And the sands of your life will run.
O gods not of saving but sorrow
Whose joy is in weeping of men,
Who shall lend thee their life, or who borrow
From others to give thee again?
O gods ever wrathful and tearless,
O gods not of night but of day,
Though your faces be frowning and fearless
Thy kingdom shall pass – men say.
ANTI£TPO¦H
The spirit of man is arisen
And crowned as a mighty King.
The people have broken from prison
And the voices once voiceless now sing.
Cry aloud, O dethroned and defeated,
Cry aloud for the fading of might,
Too long were ye feared and entreated,
Too long did men worship thy light.
Aye, weep for your crimes without number,
The loving and luring of men,
For your greatness is sunken in slumber,
Your light will n’er lighten again.
£TPO¦H B
But as many a lovely flower
Is born of a sterile seed,
In a fatal and fearful hour
There grew from this creedless breed
Love – fostered in flame and in fire
That dies but to blossom again,
Love – ever distilling desire
Like wine with the eyelids of men.
We kneel to the great Iapygian,
We bow to the Lampsacene’s shrine,
For hers is the only religion,
And hers to entice and entwine –
ANTI£TPO¦H B
There once was another, men tell us,
The giver and taker of life,
A lovingless God and a jealous
Whose joy was in weeping and strife.
He is gone; and his temple ‘tis sunken
In ashes and fallen in dust,
For the souls of the people are drunken
With dreams of the Lady of Lust –
We kneel to the Cyprian Mother,
We take up our lyres and sing,
‘Thou are crowned with the crown of another,
Thou are throned where another was King.
Ravenna
Table of Contents
This ballad won the Newdigate Prizein 1878.
I.
A year ago I breathed the Italian air,—
And yet, methinks this northern Spring is fair,-
These fields made golden with the flower of March,
The throstle singing on the feathered larch,
The cawing rooks, the wood-doves fluttering by,
The little clouds that race across the sky;
And fair the violet’s gentle drooping head,
The primrose, pale for love uncomforted,
The rose that burgeons on the climbing briar,
The crocus-bed, (that seems a moon of fire
Round-girdled with a purple marriage-ring);
And all the flowers of our English Spring,
Fond snowdrops, and the bright-starred daffodil.
Up starts the lark beside the murmuring mill,
And breaks the gossamer-threads of early dew;
And down the river, like a flame of blue,
Keen as an arrow flies the water-king,
While the brown linnets in the greenwood sing.
A year ago!—it seems a little time
Since last I saw that lordly southern clime,
Where flower and fruit to purple radiance blow,
And like bright lamps the fabled apples glow.
Full Spring it was—and by rich flowering vines,
Dark olive-groves and noble forest-pines,
I rode at will; the moist glad air was sweet,
The white road rang beneath my horse’s feet,
And musing on Ravenna’s ancient name,
I watched the day till, marked with wounds of flame,
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned.
O how my heart with boyish passion burned,
When far away across the sedge and mere
I saw that Holy City rising clear,
Crowned with her crown of towers!—On and on
I galloped, racing with the setting sun,
And ere the crimson afterglow was passed,
I stood within Ravenna’s walls at last!
II.
How strangely still! no sound of life or joy
Startles the air; no laughing shepherd-boy
Pipes on his reed, nor ever through the day
Comes the glad sound of children at their play:
O sad, and sweet, and silent! surely here
A man might dwell apart from troublous fear,
Watching the tide of seasons as they flow
From amorous Spring to Winter’s rain and snow,
And have no thought of sorrow;—here, indeed,
Are Lethe’s waters, and that fatal weed
Which makes a man forget his fatherland.
Ay! amid lotus-meadows dost thou stand,
Like Proserpine, with poppy-laden head,
Guarding the holy ashes of the dead.
For though thy brood of warrior sons hath ceased,
Thy noble dead are with thee!—they at least
Are faithful to thine honour:- guard them well,
O childless city! for a mighty spell,
To wake men’s hearts to dreams of things sublime,
Are the lone tombs where rest the Great of Time.
III.
Yon lonely pillar, rising on the plain,
Marks where the bravest knight of France was slain,—
The Prince of chivalry, the Lord of war,
Gaston de Foix: for some untimely star
Led him against thy city, and he fell,
As falls some forest-lion fighting well.
Taken from life while life and love were new,
He lies beneath God’s seamless veil of blue;
Tall lance-like reeds wave sadly o’er his head,
And oleanders bloom to deeper red,
Where his bright youth flowed crimson on the ground.
Look farther north unto that broken mound,—
There, prisoned now within a lordly tomb
Raised by a daughter’s hand, in lonely gloom,
Huge-limbed Theodoric, the Gothic king,
Sleeps after all his weary conquering.
Time hath not spared his ruin,—wind and rain
Have broken down his stronghold; and again
We see that Death is mighty lord of all,
And king and clown to ashen dust must fall
Mighty indeed THEIR glory! yet to me
Barbaric king, or knight of chivalry,
Or the great queen herself, were poor and vain,
Beside the grave where Dante rests from pain.
His gilded shrine lies open to the air;
And cunning sculptor’s hands have carven there
The calm white brow, as calm as earliest morn,
The eyes that flashed with passionate love and scorn,
The lips that sang of Heaven and of Hell,
The almond-face which Giotto drew so well,
The weary face of Dante;—to this day,
Here in his place of resting, far away
From Arno’s yellow waters, rushing down
Through the wide bridges of that fairy town,
Where the tall tower of Giotto seems to rise
A marble lily under sapphire skies!
Alas! my Dante! thou hast known the pain
Of meaner lives,—the exile’s galling chain,
How steep the stairs within kings’ houses are,
And all the petty miseries which mar
Man’s nobler nature with the sense of wrong.
Yet this dull world is grateful for thy song;
Our nations do thee homage,—even she,
That cruel queen of vine-clad Tuscany,
Who bound with crown of thorns thy living brow,
Hath decked thine empty tomb with laurels now,
And begs in vain the ashes of her son.
O mightiest exile! all thy grief is done:
Thy soul walks now beside thy Beatrice;
Ravenna guards thine ashes: sleep in peace.
IV.
How lone this palace is; how grey the walls!
No minstrel now wakes echoes in these halls.
The broken chain lies rusting on the door,
And noisome weeds have split the marble floor:
Here lurks the snake, and here the lizards run
By the stone lions blinking in the sun.
Byron dwelt here in love and revelry
For two long years—a second Anthony,
Who of the world another Actium made!
Yet suffered not his royal soul to fade,
Or lyre to break, or lance to grow less keen,
‘Neath any wiles of an Egyptian queen.
For from the East there came a mighty cry,
And Greece stood up to fight for Liberty,
And called him from Ravenna: never knight
Rode forth more nobly to wild scenes of fight!
None fell more bravely on ensanguined field,
Borne like a Spartan back upon his shield!
O Hellas! Hellas! in thine hour of pride,
Thy day of might, remember him who died
To wrest from off thy limbs the trammelling chain:
O Salamis! O lone Plataean plain!
O tossing waves of wild Euboean sea!
O windswept heights of lone Thermopylae!
He loved you well—ay, not alone in word,
Who freely gave to thee his lyre and sword,
Like AEschylos at well-fought Marathon:
And England, too, shall glory in her son,
Her warrior-poet, first in song and fight.
No longer now shall Slander’s venomed spite
Crawl like a snake across his perfect name,
Or mar the lordly scutcheon of his fame.
For as the olive-garland of the race,
Which lights with joy each eager runner’s face,
As the red cross which saveth men in war,
As a flame-bearded beacon seen from far
By mariners upon a storm-tossed sea,—
Such was his love for Greece and Liberty!
Byron, thy crowns are ever fresh and green:
Red leaves of rose from Sapphic Mitylene
Shall bind thy brows; the myrtle blooms for thee,
In hidden glades by lonely Castaly;
The laurels wait thy coming: all are thine,
And round thy head one perfect wreath will twine.
V.
The pine-tops rocked before the evening breeze
With the hoarse murmur of the wintry seas,
And the tall stems were streaked with amber bright;—
I wandered through the wood in wild delight,
Some startled bird, with fluttering wings and fleet,
Made snow of all the blossoms; at my feet,
Like silver crowns, the pale narcissi lay,
And small birds sang on every twining spray.
O waving trees, O forest liberty!
Within your haunts at least a man is free,
And half forgets the weary world of strife:
The blood flows hotter, and a sense of life
Wakes i’ the quickening veins, while once again
The woods are filled with gods we fancied slain.
Long time I watched, and surely hoped to see
Some goat-foot Pan make merry minstrelsy
Amid the reeds! some startled Dryad-maid
In girlish flight! or lurking in the glade,
The soft brown limbs, the wanton treacherous face
Of woodland god! Queen Dian in the chase,
White-limbed and terrible, with look of pride,
And leash of boar-hounds leaping at her side!
Or Hylas mirrored in the perfect stream.
O idle heart! O fond Hellenic dream!
Ere long, with melancholy rise and swell,
The evening chimes, the convent’s vesper bell,
Struck