The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde: Together with Essays and Stories by Lady Wilde, àÅèÁ·Õè 1

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Aldine, 1910
 

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˹éÒ 283 - Ah! happy they whose hearts can break And peace of pardon win! How else may man make straight his plan And cleanse his soul from Sin? How else but through a broken heart May Lord Christ enter in?
˹éÒ 49 - Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control? Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll Scrawled over on some boyish holiday With idle songs for pipe and virelay, Which do but mar the secret of the whole. Surely there was a time I might have trod The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God.
˹éÒ 251 - HE did not wear his scarlet coat, For blood and wine are red, And blood and wine were on his hands When they found him with the dead, The poor dead woman whom he loved, And murdered in her bed.
˹éÒ 94 - COME down, O Christ, and help me! reach thy hand, For I am drowning in a stormier sea Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee: The wine of life is spilt upon the sand, My heart is as some famine-murdered land Whence all good things have perished utterly And well I know my soul in Hell must lie If I this night before God's throne should stand. 'He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase, Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name From morn to noon on Carmel's smitten height.
˹éÒ 282 - For what chills and kills outright Is that every stone one lifts by day Becomes one's heart by night. With midnight always in one's heart, And twilight in one's cell, We turn the crank, or tear the rope, Each in his separate Hell, And the silence is more awful far Than the sound of a brazen bell.
˹éÒ 22 - To drift with every passion till my soul Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play. Is it for this that I have given away Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control? Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll Scrawled over on some boyish holiday With idle songs for pipe and virelay, Which do but mar the secret of the whole. Surely there was a time I might have trod The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance Struck one...
˹éÒ 280 - And bound with bars lest Christ should see How men their brothers maim. With bars they blur the gracious moon, And blind the goodly sun: And they do well to hide their Hell, For in it things are done That Son of God nor son of Man Ever should look upon!
˹éÒ 51 - Set in this stormy Northern sea, Queen of these restless fields of tide, England ! what shall men say of thee, Before whose feet the worlds divide? The earth, a brittle globe of glass, Lies in the hollow of thy hand, And through its heart of crystal pass, Like shadows through a twilight land, The spears of crimson-suited war, The long white-crested waves of fight, And all the deadly fires which are The torches of the lords of Night. The...
˹éÒ 52 - The brazen-throated clarion blows Across the Pathan's reedy fen, And the high steeps of Indian snows Shake to the tread of armed men. And many an Afghan chief, who lies Beneath his cool pomegranate-trees, Clutches his sword in fierce surmise When on the mountainside he sees The fleet-foot Mam scout, who comes To tell how he hath heard afar The measured roll of English drums Beat at the gates of Kandahar.
˹éÒ 276 - They think a murderer's heart would taint Each simple seed they sow. It is not true ! God's kindly earth Is kindlier than men know, And the red rose would but blow more red, The white rose whiter blow.

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