Oscar Wilde

OR
IC
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HE apple trees are hung with gold, And birds are loud in Arcady, The sheep lie bleating in the fold, The wild goat runs across the wold, But yesterday his love he told, I know he will come back to me...

The sea was sapphire coloured, and the
Burned like a heated opal through the air;
We hoisted sail; the wind was blowing
For the blue lands that to the eastward lie

I can write no stately
As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poemI would dare to say
For if of these fallen

Thou knowest all;
I seek in
What lands to till or sow with seed -The land is black with briar and weed,
Nor cares for falling tears or rain

IN this restless, hurried, modern world We took our hearts' full pleasure;
You and I, And now the white sails of our ship are furled, And spent the lading of our argosy
Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan, For very weeping is m...

In the glad springtime when leaves were green,
O merrily the throstle sings
I sought, amid the tangled sheen,
Love whom mine eyes had never seen,

An omnibus across the
Crawls like a yellow butterfly,
And, here and there a
Shows like a little restless midge