Page:Writings of Oscar Wilde - Volume 01.djvu/63

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Helas!

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 time dead? lo! with a little rod I did but touch the honey of romance—And must I lose a soul's inheritance?

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