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.'

2 comments:

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

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

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