Poems by Oscar Wilde Part 19

And your eyes, they were green and grey Like an April day, But lit into amethyst When I stooped and kissed;

And your mouth, it would never smile For a long, long while, Then it rippled all over with laughter Five minutes after.

You were always afraid of a shower, Just like a flower: I remember you started and ran When the rain began.

I remember I never could catch you, For no one could match you, You had wonderful, luminous, fleet, Little wings to your feet.

I remember your hair-did I tie it?

For it always ran riot- Like a tangled sunbeam of gold: These things are old.

I remember so well the room, And the lilac bloom That beat at the dripping pane In the warm June rain;

And the colour of your gown, It was amber-brown, And two yellow satin bows From your shoulders rose.

And the handkerchief of French lace Which you held to your face- Had a small tear left a stain?

Or was it the rain?

On your hand as it waved adieu There were veins of blue; In your voice as it said good-bye Was a petulant cry,

'You have only wasted your life.'

(Ah, that was the knife!) When I rushed through the garden gate It was all too late.

Could we live it over again, Were it worth the pain, Could the pa.s.sionate past that is fled Call back its dead!

Well, if my heart must break, Dear love, for your sake, It will break in music, I know, Poets' hearts break so.

But strange that I was not told That the brain can hold In a tiny ivory cell G.o.d's heaven and h.e.l.l.

DeSESPOIR

THE seasons send their ruin as they go, For in the spring the narciss shows its head Nor withers till the rose has flamed to red, And in the autumn purple violets blow, And the slim crocus stirs the winter snow; Wherefore yon leafless trees will bloom again And this grey land grow green with summer rain And send up cowslips for some boy to mow.

But what of life whose bitter hungry sea Flows at our heels, and gloom of sunless night Covers the days which never more return?

Ambition, love and all the thoughts that burn We lose too soon, and only find delight In withered husks of some dead memory.

PAN

DOUBLE VILLANELLE

I

O goat-foot G.o.d of Arcady!

This modern world is grey and old, And what remains to us of thee?

No more the shepherd lads in glee Throw apples at thy wattled fold, O goat-foot G.o.d of Arcady!

Nor through the laurels can one see Thy soft brown limbs, thy beard of gold, And what remains to us of thee?

And dull and dead our Thames would be, For here the winds are chill and cold, O goat-foot G.o.d of Arcady!

Then keep the tomb of Helice, Thine olive-woods, thy vine-clad wold, And what remains to us of thee?

Though many an unsung elegy Sleeps in the reeds our rivers hold, O goat-foot G.o.d of Arcady!

Ah, what remains to us of thee?

II

Ah, leave the hills of Arcady, Thy satyrs and their wanton play, This modern world hath need of thee.

No nymph or Faun indeed have we, For Faun and nymph are old and grey, Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!

This is the land where liberty Lit grave-browed Milton on his way, This modern world hath need of thee!

A land of ancient chivalry Where gentle Sidney saw the day, Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!

This fierce sea-lion of the sea, This England lacks some stronger lay, This modern world hath need of thee!

Then blow some trumpet loud and free, And give thine oaten pipe away, Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!

This modern world hath need of thee!

THE SPHINX

TO MARCEL SCHWOB IN FRIENDSHIP AND IN ADMIRATION

THE SPHINX

IN a dim corner of my room for longer than my fancy thinks A beautiful and silent Sphinx has watched me through the shifting gloom.

Inviolate and immobile she does not rise she does not stir For silver moons are naught to her and naught to her the suns that reel.

Red follows grey across the air, the waves of moonlight ebb and flow But with the Dawn she does not go and in the night-time she is there.

Dawn follows Dawn and Nights grow old and all the while this curious cat Lies couching on the Chinese mat with eyes of satin rimmed with gold.

Upon the mat she lies and leers and on the tawny throat of her Flutters the soft and silky fur or ripples to her pointed ears.