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Oscar Wilde

On the Massacre of the Christians in Bulgaria

Christ, dost Thou live indeed? or are Thy bones
Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre?
And was Thy Rising only dreamed by her
Whose love of Thee for all her sin atones?
For here the air is horrid with men's groans,
The priests who call upon Thy name are slain,
Dost Thou not hear the bitter wail of pain
From those whose children lie upon the stones?
Come down, O Son of God! incestuous gloom
Curtains the land, and through the starless night
Over Thy Cross a Crescent moon I see!
If Thou in very truth didst burst the tomb
Come down, O Son of Man! and show Thy might
Lest Mahomet be crowned instead of Thee!

 
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About the poet
Oscar Wilde
 
By the same poet
The Ballad of Reading Gaol
Helas!
Sonnet to Liberty
Ave Imperatrix
To Milton
Louis Napoleon
Quantum Mutata
Libertatis Sacra Fames
Theoretikos
The Garden Of Eros
Requiescat
Sonnet On Approaching Italy
San Miniato
Ave Maria Gratia Plena
Italia
Holy Week at Genoa
Rome Unvisited
Urbs Sacra Aeterna
Sonnet on Hearing the Dies Irae Sung in the Sistine Chapel
Easter Day
E Tenebris
Vita Nuova
 
Related books
Oscar Wilde at amazon.com


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