This week: Oscar Wilde Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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My Voice
by Oscar Wilde
Within 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 my gladness fled,
Sorrow has paled my young mouth's vermilion,
And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.
But all this crowded life has been to thee
No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell
Of viols, or the music of the sea
That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.
Under The Balcony
by Oscar Wilde
O beautiful star with the crimson mouth!
O moon with the brows of gold!
Rise up, rise up, from the odorous south!
And light for my love her way,
Lest her little feet should stray
On the windy hill and the wold!
O beautiful star with the crimson mouth!
O moon with the brows of gold!
O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!
O ship with the wet, white sail!
Put in, put in, to the port to me!
For my love and I would go
To the land where the daffodils blow
In the heart of a violet dale!
O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!
O ship with the wet, white sail!
O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!
O bird that sits on the spray!
Sing on, sing on, from your soft brown throat!
And my love in her little bed
Will listen, and lift her head
From the pillow, and come my way!
O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!
O bird that sits on the spray!
O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air!
O blossom with lips of snow!
Come down, come down, for my love to wear!
You will die on her head in a crown,
You will die in a fold of her gown,
To her little light heart you will go!
O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air!
O blossom with lips of snow!
On October 16 1854 in Dublin, Ireland, Sir William Wilde and Lady Jane Francesca Wilde welcomed son Oscar Wilde into the world. Wilde’s mother was a poet and a journalist. She wrote under a pen name Sperenza. Lay Jane was an activist for women. Wilde’s father was also a writer and he was a specialist in diseases of the eye and ear. Sir William founded a hospital in Dublin in 1853. For his work he was honorarily appointed Surgeon Oculist in Ordinary, by the Queen. Wilde was the couple's second son and he had a younger sister who passed away young. Wilde went to Portora Royal School for 1864 to 1871. He went on to Trinity College in Dublin in 1871 through 1874 followed by Magdalen College from 1874 to 1878. After receiving his B.A. from Magdalen College Wilde moved to London.
Over the next few years Wilde worked as an art reviewer, a lecturer in the United States and Canada and lived in Paris. He then gave lectures in Britain during 1883-1884. After that he became a regular contributor to the Pall Mall Gazette and Dramatic View. Wilde married Constancew Llyon in 1884. Wilde became an editor for the Woman’s World magazine to support his family. In 1888 Wilde published ”The Happy Prince and Other Tales” which he wrote for his two sons. ”The Picture of Dorian Gray,” followed being published in 1890. His marriage ended in 1893 after Wilde met and fell in love with Lord Alfred Douglas. Wilde turned to the theatre in 1892, his reputation grew with a series of plays; Lady Wintermere's Fan (1892) followed by A Woman of No Importance (1893), An Ideal Husband (1895) and The Importance of Being Earnest (1895). Wilde had two major literary-theoretical works, 'The Decay of Lying' (1889) and 'The Critic as Artist' (1890). Wilde was charged with homosexuality, which was illegal in Britain at that time. He served two years of hard labor. Wilde was first in Wandsworth prison in London. He was then moved to Reading Goal in Reading, Berkshire, England. He wasn’t allowed pen or paper for nineteen months of his sentence. Once allowed to write again he wrote "De Profundis," which was published in 1905. Wilde was released from prison in 1897. He lived under the name Sebastian Melmoth in Berneval and then moved to Paris. Wilde’s estranged wife Constance died in 1898.
Wilde wrote “The Ballad of Reading Gaol” published February 13, 1898. It was said to reveal his concerns for the inhumane prison conditions at Reading Gaol. Oscar Wilde died of cerebral meningitis on November 30, 1900, broke and alone in a cheap hotel, at 46 years old.
Her Voice
by Oscar Wilde
The wild bee reels from bough to bough
With his furry coat and his gauzy wing,
Now in a lily-cup, and now
Setting a jacinth bell a-swing,
In his wandering;
Sit closer love: it was here I trow
I made that vow,
Swore that two lives should be like one
As long as the sea-gull loved the sea,
As long as the sunflower sought the sun, -
It shall be, I said, for eternity
'Twixt you and me!
Dear friend, those times are over and done;
Love's web is spun.
Look upward where the poplar trees
Sway and sway in the summer air,
Here in the valley never a breeze
Scatters the thistledown, but there
Great winds blow fair
From the mighty murmuring mystical seas,
And the wave-lashed leas.
Look upward where the white gull screams,
What does it see that we do not see?
Is that a star? or the lamp that gleams
On some outward voyaging argosy, -
Ah! can it be
We have lived our lives in a land of dreams!
How sad it seems.
Sweet, there is nothing left to say
But this, that love is never lost,
Keen winter stabs the breasts of May
Whose crimson roses burst his frost,
Ships tempest-tossed
Will find a harbour in some bay,
And so we may.
And there is nothing left to do
But to kiss once again, and part,
Nay, there is nothing we should rue,
I have my beauty, - you your Art,
Nay, do not start,
One world was not enough for two
Like me and you.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winners of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] are:
What is the fate of our children?
Their future has never been so grim.
Where there was silence, one hears ugly chants.
Where there was peace, one feels unrest.
Where one saw beauty, he sees graffiti.
Streets are sealed off by the police
who try to protect the innocent
Cities become dangerous like war zones
Unheard of crimes make the news
Some places experience this turmoil for days
We ask for law and order
We pray for national peace
We worry about our country, cities and homes,
But most of all,
We worry about our children.
The winds of fate
blow through cities of the United States
scattering unrest.
The cries
of the poor and dispossessed
no longer go unheard,
but rise
out of the ghettos if segregation
to penetrate
the sealed minds
of the wealthy.
Chants for justice--
reverberate
through streets
where the silence
of fear once rule--
ascend graffiti covered walls
to shake the towers
of political power.
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Poetry: October 07, 2020 Issue [#10401]
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