Page:The Poems of Oscar Wilde.pdf/296

 Made snow of all the blossoms as it flew

To charm the woods with singing: the whole world

Seemed waking to delight!

And yet—and yet—

My soul was filled with leaden heaviness:

I had no joy in Nature; what to me,

Ambition's slave, was crimson-stainèd rose

Or the gold-sceptred crocus? The bright bird

Sang out of tune for me, and the sweet flowers

Seemed but a pageant, and an unreal show

That mocked my heart; for, like the fabled snake

That stings itself to anguish, so I lay

Self-tortured, self-tormented.

The day crept

Unheeded on the dial, till the sun

Dropt, purple-sailed, into the gorgeous East,

When, from the fiery heart of that great orb,

Came One whose shape of beauty far outshone

The most bright vision of this common earth.

Girt was she in a robe more white than flame

Or furnace-heated brass; upon her head

She bare a laurel crown, and, like a star

That falls from the high heaven suddenly,

Passed to my side.

Then kneeling low, I cried

'O much-desired! O long-waited for!

Immortal Glory! Great world-conqueror!

Oh, let me not die crownless; once, at least, 282