Monday, April 17, 2017

To My Wife by Oscar Wilde



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.

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