Page:The Poems of Oscar Wilde.pdf/288



O blowing wind! you bring my sorrow near,

For surely borne with splashing of the oar,

And hidden in some galley-prison drear

I shall be led unto that distant shore

Where the tall palm-tree first took root, and made,

With clustering laurel leaves, a pleasant shade

For Leto when with travail great she bore

A god and goddess in Love's bitter fight,

Her body's anguish, and her soul's delight.

It may be in Delos,

Encircled of seas,

I shall sing with some maids

From the Cyclades,

Of Artemis goddess

And queen and maiden,

Sing of the gold

In her hair heavy-laden.

Sing of her hunting,

Her arrows and bow,

And in singing find solace

From weeping and woe.

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