Page:Writings of Oscar Wilde - Volume 01.djvu/85
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THE GARDEN OF EROS.
71
Nay, when Keats died the Muses still had left
One silver voice to sing his threnody,
But ah! too soon of it we were bereft
When on that riven night and stormy sea
Panthea claimed her singer as her own;
And slew the mouth that praised her; since which time we walk alone,
One silver voice to sing his threnody,
But ah! too soon of it we were bereft
When on that riven night and stormy sea
Panthea claimed her singer as her own;
And slew the mouth that praised her; since which time we walk alone,
Save for that fiery heart, that morning star
Of re-arisen England, whose clear eye
Saw from our tottering throne and waste of war
The grand Greek limbs of young Democracy
Rise mightily like Hesperus and bring
The great Republic! him at least thy love hath taught to sing,
Of re-arisen England, whose clear eye
Saw from our tottering throne and waste of war
The grand Greek limbs of young Democracy
Rise mightily like Hesperus and bring
The great Republic! him at least thy love hath taught to sing,
And he hath been with thee at Thessaly,
And seen white Atalanta fleet of foot
In passionless and fierce virginity
Hunting the tuskèd boar, his honeyed lute
Hath pierced the cavern of the hollow hill,
And Venus laughs to know one knee will bow before her still.
And seen white Atalanta fleet of foot
In passionless and fierce virginity
Hunting the tuskèd boar, his honeyed lute
Hath pierced the cavern of the hollow hill,
And Venus laughs to know one knee will bow before her still.