Monday, August 30, 2010

Easter Day by Oscar Wilde

I discovered this sonnet today.

THE silver trumpets rang across the Dome:
The people knelt upon the ground with awe:
And borne upon the necks of men I saw,
Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.
Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,
And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red,
Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head:
In splendour and in light the Pope passed home.
My heart stole back across wide wastes of years
To One who wandered by a lonely sea,
And sought in vain for any place of rest:
'Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest,
I, only I, must wander wearily,
And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.'


  1. Nice one. Not sure about Oscar, though - is he an American or an Australian woman?? ;-)

  2. I've been reading Anne Sexton. Most of her poems are not bloggable (They'd require an MA rating.)