Page:The Poems of Oscar Wilde.pdf/293



O bitter bridegroom who didst bear

Ruin to those that loved thee true!

O holy stream Scamander, where

With gentle nurturement I grew

In the first days, when life and love were new.

And now—and now—it seems that I must lie

In the dark land that never sees the sun;

Sing my sad songs of fruitless prophecy

By the black stream Cokytos that doth run

Through long, low hills of dreary Acheron.

Ah, but thy word is clear!

Even a child among men,

Even a child might see

What is lying hidden here.

Ah! I am smitten deep

To the heart with a deadly blow

At the evil fate of the maid,

At the cry of her song of woe!

Sorrows for her to bear!

Wonders for me to hear!

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