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Oscar Wilde

Sonnet on Hearing the Dies Irae Sung in the Sistine Chapel

Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring,
Sad olive-groves, or silver-breasted dove,
Teach me more clearly of Thy life and love
Than terrors of red flame and thundering.
The hillside vines dear memories of Thee bring:
A bird at evening flying to its nest
Tells me of One who had no place of rest:
I think it is of Thee the sparrows sing.
Come rather on some autumn afternoon,
When red and brown are burnished on the leaves,
And the fields echo to the gleaner's song,
Come when the splendid fulness of the moon
Looks down upon the rows of golden sheaves,
And reap Thy harvest: we have waited long.

 
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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
On the Massacre of the Christians in Bulgaria
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
Easter Day
E Tenebris
Vita Nuova
 
Related books
Oscar Wilde at amazon.com


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