Autor Oscar Wilde

I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned, Italia, my Italia, at thy name: And when from out the […]

Not that I love thy children, whose dull eyes See nothing save their own unlovely woe, Whose minds know nothing, […]

Set in this stormy Northern sea, Queen of these restless fields of tide, England! what shall men say of thee, […]

This mighty empire hath but feet of clay: Of all its ancient chivalry and might Our little island is forsaken […]

OSCAR WILDE (1854-1900) Impression Le Réveillon The sky is laced with fitful red, The circling mists and shadows flee, The […]

There was a time in Europe long ago When no man died for freedom anywhere, But England’s lion leaping from […]

I stood by the unvintageable sea Till the wet waves drenched face and hair with spray; The long red fires […]

Italia! thou art fallen, though with sheen Of battle-spears thy clamorous armies stride From the north Alps to the Sicilian […]

Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach Thy hand, For I am drowning in a stormier sea Than Simon […]

It is full summer now, the heart of June; Not yet the sunburnt reapers are astir Upon the upland meadow […]

Milton! I think thy spirit hath passed away From these white cliffs and high-embattled towers; This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of […]

OSCAR WILDE (1854-1900) Impression de Voyage The sea was sapphire coloured, and the sky Burned like a heated opal through […]

Christ, dost Thou live indeed? or are Thy bones Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre? And was Thy Rising only […]

OSCAR WILDE (1854-1900) Santa Decca The Gods are dead: no longer do we bring To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves! […]

I The corn has turned from grey to red, Since first my spirit wandered forth From the drear cities of […]