Her Voice by Oscar Wilde
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.
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.
Quotes by Oscar Wilde
"Beauty is a form of genius - is higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation. It is of the great facts in the world like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in dark water of that silver shell we call the moon."
"Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us."
"Illusion is the first of all pleasures."“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”
― Oscar Wilde
“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”
― Oscar Wilde
“The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame.”
― Oscar Wilde
“Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by
moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest
of the world.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Critic as Artist
“You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their
fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.”
― Oscar Wilde
Image of the cover of Oscar Wilde's The Sphinx (1894)
― Oscar Wilde
“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”
― Oscar Wilde
“The books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame.”
― Oscar Wilde
“Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by
moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest
of the world.”
― Oscar Wilde, The Critic as Artist
“You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their
fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.”
― Oscar Wilde
Image of the cover of Oscar Wilde's The Sphinx (1894)
