Saturday, September 23, 2017

A poem by Oscar Wilde

Loss, is a familiar theme in poetry. It is most surely a subject we all have experience with from time to time and in one way or another. If we are lucky it's effects don't last long. Yet it can linger. And sometimes, is so strong that it lasts for life. Here, poet Oscar Wilde is presumed to have written late in his life about his memory of the tragic passing of his younger sister at the age of 8. This poem takes us there with him. It tugs at the heart.......


     by Oscar Wilde

Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast.
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

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