My Voice

From Immortal Poetry
Jump to: navigation, search

WITHIN this restless, hurried, modern world
We took our hearts' full pleasure, You and I,
And now the white sails of our ship are furled,
And spent the lading of our argosy.

Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,
For very weeping is my gladness fled,
Sorrow hath paled my lip's vermilion,
And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.

But all this crowded life has been to thee
No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell
Of viols, or the music of the sea
That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.

by Oscar Wilde.

Personal tools
Categories
topics
poems by decade
seasons
users
Languages

Print
Printer friendly version

IPv6

Search:

Poetry index | Random poem | Author index | Norwegian version | Swedish version