Poems by Oscar Wilde

I
LE JARDIN

The lily’s withered chalice falls
   Around its rod of dusty gold,
   And from the beech-trees on the wold
The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.

The gaudy leonine sunflower
   Hangs black and barren on its stalk,
   And down the windy garden walk
The dead leaves scatter,—hour by hour.

Pale privet-petals white as milk
   Are blown into a snowy mass:
   The roses lie upon the grass
Like little shreds of crimson silk.

II
LA MER

A white mist drifts across the shrouds,
   A wild moon in this wintry sky
   Gleams like an angry lion’s eye
Out of a mane of tawny clouds.

The muffled steersman at the wheel
   Is but a shadow in the gloom;—
   And in the throbbing engine-room
Leap the long rods of polished steel.

The shattered storm has left its trace
   Upon this huge and heaving dome,
   For the thin threads of yellow foam
Float on the waves like ravelled lace.