Flower of Love │ Pencil Drawing By Norebo
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Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common
clay I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day.
Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong.
You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled meed.
Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.
name, And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of Fame.
And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung.
With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in mine.
dove, Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love;
Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.
And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth.
For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.
past, Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.
root, And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.
And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea.
wasted days, I have found the lover's crown of myrtle better than the poet's crown of bays.
Oscar Wilde
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