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Love Song by Oscar Wilde
Though the wind shakes lintel and rafter,
And the priest sits mourning alone,
For the ruin that comes hereafter
When the world shall be overthrown,
What matter the wind and weather
To those that live for a day?
When my Love and I are together,
What matter what men may say?
I and my Love where the wild red rose is,
When hands grow weary and eyes are bright,
Kisses are sweet as the evening closes,
Lips are reddest before the night,
And what matter if Death be an endless slumber
And thorns the commonest crown for the head,
What matter if sorrow like wild weeds cumber,
When kisses are sweetest, and lips are red?
I that am only the idlest singer
That ever sang by a desolate sea,
A goodlier gift than song can bring her,
Sweeter than sound of minstrelsy,
For singers grow weary, and lips will tire,
And winds will scatter the pipe and reed,
And even the sound of the silver lyre
Sickens my heart in the days of need,
But never at all do I fall or falter
For I know that Love is a god, and fair,
And if death and derision follow after,
The only god worth a sin and a prayer.
And She and I are as Queen and Master,
Why should we care if a people groan
'Neath a despot's feet, or some red disaster
Shatter the fool on his barren thrown?
What matter if prisons and palaces crumble,
And the red flag floats in the piled-up street,
When over the sound of the cannon's rumble
The voice of my Lady is clear and sweet?
For the worlds are many and we are single,
And sweeter to me when my Lady sings,
Than the cry when the East and the West
world mingle,
For clamour of battle, and the fall of Kings.
So out of the reach of tears and sorrow
Under the wild-rose let us play,
And if death and severing come tomorrow,
I have your kisses, sweet heart, today.
Last updated:
Monday, 11-Jan-2010 03:52:48 MST
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