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Read more poems by Oscar Wilde: Oscar Wilde Poems at Poetry X.

To drift with every passion till my soul
Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play,
Is it for this that I have given away
Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control?--
Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll
Scrawled over on some boyish holiday
With idle songs for pipe and virelay
Which do but mar the secret of the whole.
Surely there was a time I might have trod
The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance
Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God:
Is that tine dead? lo! with a little rod
I did but touch the honey of romance--
And must I lose a soul's inheritance?

Added: 25 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 26 May 2012 6:20 PM | Viewed: 4042 times

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