Oscar Wilde (1854–1900). Poems. 1881.
Index of First Lines
- Albeit nurtured in democracy
- A Lily-girl, not made for this world’s pain
- Apple trees are hung with gold, The
- A ring of gold and a milk-white dove
- As oftentimes the too resplendent sun
- As one who poring on a Grecian urn
- Christ, dost thou live indeed? or are thy bones
- Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach thy hand
- Corn has turned from grey to red, The
- Dear Heart I think the young impassioned priest
- Eagle of Austerlitz! where were thy wings
- Gods are dead: no longer do we bring, The
- Her ivory hands on the ivory keys
- He was a grecian lad, who coming home
- How steep the stairs within Kings’ houses are
- How vain and dull this common world must seem
- I am weary of lying within the chase
- I marvel not Bassanio was so bold
- In the lone tent, waiting for victory
- I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned
- Is it thy will that I should wax and wane
- I stood by the unvintageable sea
- Italia! thou art fallen, though with sheen
- It is full summer now, the heart of June
- It is full Winter now: the trees are bare
- I wandered in Scoglietto’s green retreat
- Like burnt-out torches by a sick man’s bed
- Little white clouds are racing over the sky, The
- Milton! I think thy spirit hath passed away
- My limbs are wasted with a flame
- Nay, let us walk from fire unto fire
- Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring
- Not that I love thy children, whose dull eyes
- Oft have we trod the vales of Castaly
- Oleander on the wall, The
- O Singer of Persephone!
- Rid of the world’s injustice, and his pain
- Rome! what a scroll of History thine has been
- Sea is flecked with bars of grey, The
- Sea was sapphire coloured, and the sky, The
- See, I have climbed the mountain side
- Set in this stormy Northern sea
- Seven stars in the still water
- Silent room, the heavy creeping shade, The
- Silver trumpets rang across the Dome, The
- Sky is laced with fitful red, The
- Sweet I blame you not for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay
- Thames nocturne of blue and gold, The
- There was a time in Europe long ago
- This English Thames is holier far than Rome
- This mighty empire hath but feet of clay
- To drift with every passion till my soul
- To outer senses there is peace
- To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wear
- To that gaunt House of Art which lacks for naught
- Tread lightly, she is near
- Two crownèd Kings, and One that stood alone
- Was this His coming! I had hoped to see
- Western wind is blowing fair, The
- Where hast thou been since round the walls of Troy
- Wild bee reels from bough to bough, The
- Within this restless, hurried, modern world