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Poem by Oscar Wilde


Easter Day


The silver trumpets rang across the Dome:
The people knelt upon the ground with awe:
And borne upon the necks of men I saw,
Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.
Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,
And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red,
Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head:
In splendor and in light the Pope passed home.

My heart stole back across wide wastes of years
To One who wandered by a lonely sea,
And sought in vain for any place of rest:
"Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest,
I, only I, must wander wearily,
And bruise My feet, and drink wine salt with tears." 



Oscar Wilde


Oscar Wilde's other poems:
  1. San Miniato
  2. Salve Saturnia Tellus
  3. Desespoir
  4. Chanson
  5. On the Massacre of the Christians in Bulgaria


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