Page:Writings of Oscar Wilde - Volume 01.djvu/81

This page needs to be proofread.
THE GARDEN OF EROS.
67
Yon curving spray of purple clematis  Whose gorgeous dye outflames the Tyrian King, And fox-gloves with their nodding chalices,  But that one narciss which the startled Spring Let from her kirtle fall when first she heard In her own woods the wild tempestuous song of summer's bird,
Ah! leave it for a subtle memory Of those sweet tremulous days of rain and sun, When April laughed between her tears to see  The early primrose with shy footsteps run From the gnarled oak-tree roots till all the wold, Spite of its brown and trampled leaves, grew bright with shimmering gold.
Nay, pluck it too, it is not half so sweet  As thou thyself, my soul's idolatry!And when thou art a-wearied at thy feet  Shall oxlips weave their brightest tapestry, For thee the woodbine shall forget its pride And veil its tangled whorls, and thou shalt walk on daisies pied.
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.