Page:Writings of Oscar Wilde - Volume 01.djvu/79

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THE GARDEN OF EROS.
65
That will not look the gold sun in the face  For fear of too much splendour,—ah! methinks it is a place
Which should be trodden by Persephone When wearied of the flowerless fields of Dis! Or danced on by the lads of Arcady!  The hidden secret of eternal bliss Known to the Grecian here a man might find,Ah! you and I may find it now if Love and Sleep be kind.
There are the flowers which mourning Herakles  Strewed on the tomb of Hylas, columbine,Its white doves all a-flutter where the breeze  Kissed them too harshly, the small celandine,That yellow-kirtled chorister of eve, And lilac lady's-smock,—but let them bloom alone and leave
Yon spired holly-hock red-crocketed To sway its silent chimes, else must the bee,Its little bell-ringer, go seek instead  Some other pleasaunce; the anemoneThat weeps at daybreak, like a silly girl Before her love, and hardly lets the butterflies unfurl
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