To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems -- Oscar Wilde

Vikram Doctor writes "For no particularly clear
reasons, today's poem [Poem #1225] made me think of three others, each quite
different, but well worth carrying on the list."

I agree - the poems are very different, and yet all connected in some way to
Flecker's poem; they form a nice theme. So, back to Vikram, with the first
of his poems:

(Poem #1226) To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems I can write no stately proem As a prelude to my lay; From a poet to a poem I would dare to say. For if of these fallen petals One to you seem fair, Love will waft it till it settles On your hair. And when wind and winter harden All the loveless land, It will whisper of the garden, You will understand. -- Oscar Wilde

  proem: An introduction; a preface

The first was by Oscar Wilde, a very simple and
delicate poem to his wife. Its not very much, and in
less sure hands could be too mawkish or pretty. But
Wilde gets the balance just right, and the result is a
poem which I read just casually once, but its always
stayed with me.

Vikram

[Martin adds]

As Vikram says, the poem has a very light, delicate touch - I was reminded in
places of Teasdale. What particularly struck me was the way it kept getting
better with every line - it starts off conventionally enough, but by the time
it gets to the last verse, it is evident that Wilde has painted a softly
beautiful image with a few, precise strokes; and the last line is quietly and
hauntingly perfect.

Symphony in Yellow -- Oscar Wilde

(Poem #992) Symphony in Yellow An omnibus across the bridge Crawls like a yellow butterfly, And, here and there, a passer-by Shows like a little restless midge. Big barges full of yellow hay Are moored against the shadowy wharf, And, like a yellow silken scarf, The thick fog hangs along the quay. The yellow leaves begin to fade And flutter from the Temple elms, And at my feet the pale green Thames Lies like a rod of rippled jade. -- Oscar Wilde

These days, Oscar Wilde is celebrated as a playwright, essayist and wit, but
not as a poet. For ample reason: the monumental "Ballad of Reading Gaol"
apart, most of his poetry is simply not very good. Melodramatic, pretentious
and often juvenile, Wilde's verse follows that of the Pre-Raphaelites in
aping many of the worst excesses of the Romantics.

That said, there are times when Wilde gets it right, and "Symphony in
Yellow" is one of them. It's a beautifully Impressionistic poem, almost a
painting; note how there is no real action, just description. Also of
interest is the synaesthesia the poem engenders, in its mingling of colour
and movement and spoken word. Very nicely done, and all too rare.

thomas.

Serenade -- Oscar Wilde

Carrying on with the theme...

Guest poem sent in by Suchitra

(Poem #658) Serenade The western wind is blowing fair Across the dark Ægean sea, And at the secret marble stair My Tyrian galley waits for thee. Come down! the purple sail is spread, The watchman sleeps within the town, O leave thy lily-flowered bed, O Lady mine come down, come down! She will not come, I know her well, Of lover's vows she hath no care, And little good a man can tell Of one so cruel and so fair. True love is but a woman's toy, They never know the lover's pain, And I who loved as loves a boy Must love in vain, must love in vain. O noble pilot tell me true Is that the sheen of golden hair? Or is it but the tangled dew That binds the passion-flowers there? Good sailor come and tell me now Is that my Lady's lily hand? Or is it but the gleaming prow, Or is it but the silver sand? No! no! 'tis not the tangled dew, 'Tis not the silver-fretted sand, It is my own dear Lady true With golden hair and lily hand! O noble pilot steer for Troy, Good sailor ply the labouring oar, This is the Queen of life and joy Whom we must bear from Grecian shore! The waning sky grows faint and blue, It wants an hour still of day, Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew, O Lady mine away! away! O noble pilot steer for Troy, Good sailor ply the labouring oar, O loved as only loves a boy! O loved for ever evermore! -- Oscar Wilde

[Bio]

1854-1900
Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde was born in Dublin, the son of an
eye-surgeon and a literary hostess and writer (known under the pseudonym
"Speranza"). After studying at Trinity College, Dublin, Wilde went to
Magdalen College, Oxford, where he achieved a double first and won the
Newdigate prize for a poem "Ravenna".

While at Oxford he became notorious for his flamboyant wit, talent, charm
and aestheticism, and this reputation soon won him a place in London
society. Bunthorne, the Fleshly Poet in Gilbert and Sullivan's opera
Patience was widely thought to be a caricature of Wilde (though in fact it
was intended as a skit of Rossetti) and Wilde seems to have consciously
styled himself on this figure.

In 1882 Wilde gave a one year lecture tour of America, visiting Paris in
1883 before returning to New York for the opening of his first play Vera. In
1884 he married and had two sons, for whom he probably wrote his first book
of fairy tales, The Happy Prince. The next decade was his most prolific and
the time when he wrote the plays for which he is best remembered. His
writing and particularly his plays are epigramatic and witty and Wilde was
not afraid to shock.

This period was also haunted by accusations about his personal life, chiefly
prompted by the Marquess of Queensberry's fierce opposition to the intense
friendship between Wilde and her son, Lord Alfred. These accusations
culminated in 1895 in Wilde's imprisonment for homosexual offences.

While in prison, Wilde was declared bankrupt, and after his release he lived
on the generosity of friends. From prison he wrote a long and bitter letter
to Lord Alfred, part of which was afterwards published as De Profundis, but
after his release he wrote nothing but the poem The Ballad of Reading Gaol.

[Links]

Oscar Wilde's works online at
http://www.everypoet.com/archive/poetry/Oscar_Wilde/oscar_wilde_contents.htm
http://www.upei.ca/~english/202/victorian/wilde.html

A comprehensive biography at
http://www.bartleby.com/65/wi/Wilde-Os.html