Author Oscar Wilde - Full Online Book

Full Online Books
Authors Authors Short Stories Short Stories Long Stories Long Stories Funny Stories Funny Stories Love Stories Love Stories Stories For Kids Stories For Kids Poems Poems Essays Essays Nonfictions Nonfictions Plays Plays Folktales Folktales Fairy Tales Fairy Tales Fables Fables Learning Kitchen Learning Kitchen
Valid XHTML 1.0 Transitional Free Classified Website Without Registration Free Classified Website Daniel Company
Twitter Twitter Add book

Full Online Book HomeAuthor Oscar WildePage 9

Famous Authors (View All Authors)

Ravenna Ravenna

(Newdigate prize poem recited in the Sheldonian Theatre Oxford June 26th, 1878.To my friend George Fleming author of 'The Nile Novel' and 'Mirage')I.A year ago I breathed the Italian air,--And yet, methinks this northern Spring is fair,-These fields made golden with the flower of March,The throstle singing on the feathered larch,The cawing rooks, the wood-doves fluttering by,The little clouds that race across the sky;And fair the violet's gentle drooping head,The primrose, pale for love uncomforted,The rose that burgeons on the climbing briar,The crocus-bed, (that seems a moon of fireRound-girdled with a purple marriage-ring);And all the flowers of our English Spring,Fond snowdrops,... Poems - Post by : davemorris - Date : November 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 2425

The Garden Of Eros The Garden Of Eros

The Garden Of Eros
It is full summer now, the heart of June;Not yet the sunburnt reapers are astirUpon the upland meadow where too soonRich autumn time, the season's usurer,Will lend his hoarded gold to all the trees,And see his treasure scattered by the wild and spendthrift breeze.Too soon indeed! yet here the daffodil,That love-child of the Spring, has lingered onTo vex the rose with jealousy, and stillThe harebell spreads her azure pavilion,And like a strayed and wandering revellerAbandoned of its brothers, whom long since June's messengerThe missel-thrush has frighted from the glade,One pale narcissus loiters fearfullyClose to a shadowy nook half afraidOf their... Poems - Post by : windermere - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 2466

Theoretikos Theoretikos

This mighty empire hath but feet of clay:Of all its ancient chivalry and mightOur little island is forsaken quite:Some enemy hath stolen its crown of bay,And from its hills that voice hath passed awayWhich spake of Freedom: O come out of it,Come out of it, my Soul, thou art not fitFor this vile traffic-house day by dayWisdom and reverence are sold at mart,And the rude people rage with ignorant criesAgainst an heritage of centuries.It mars my calm: wherefore in dreams of ArtAnd loftiest culture I would stand apart,Neither for God, nor for his enemies._________ The EndOscar Wilde's poem:... Poems - Post by : IWT8898 - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 3704

Libertatis Sacra Fames Libertatis Sacra Fames

Libertatis Sacra Fames
Albeit nurtured in democracy,And liking best that state republicanWhere every man is Kinglike and no manIs crowned above his fellows, yet I see,Spite of this modern fret for Liberty,Better the rule of One, whom all obey,Than to let clamorous demagogues betrayOur freedom with the kiss of anarchy.Wherefore I love them not whose hands profanePlant the red flag upon the piled-up streetFor no right cause, beneath whose ignorant reignArts, Culture, Reverence, Honour, all things fade,Save Treason and the dagger of her trade,Or Murder with his silent bloody feet._________ The EndOscar Wilde's poem: Libertatis Sacra Fames... Poems - Post by : kaerae01 - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 3765

Quantum Mutata Quantum Mutata

Quantum Mutata
There was a time in Europe long agoWhen no man died for freedom anywhere,But England's lion leaping from its lairLaid hands on the oppressor! it was soWhile England could a great Republic show.Witness the men of Piedmont, chiefest careOf Cromwell, when with impotent despairThe Pontiff in his painted porticoTrembled before our stern ambassadors.How comes it then that from such high estateWe have thus fallen, save that LuxuryWith barren merchandise piles up the gateWhere noble thoughts and deeds should enter by:Else might we still be Milton's heritors._________ The EndOscar Wilde's poem: Quantum Mutata... Poems - Post by : smw51 - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 1303

On The Massacre Of The Christians In Bulgaria On The Massacre Of The Christians In Bulgaria

On The Massacre Of The Christians In Bulgaria
Christ, dost Thou live indeed? or are Thy bonesStill straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre?And was Thy Rising only dreamed by herWhose love of Thee for all her sin atones?For here the air is horrid with men's groans,The priests who call upon Thy name are slain,Dost Thou not hear the bitter wail of painFrom those whose children lie upon the stones?Come down, O Son of God! incestuous gloomCurtains the land, and through the starless nightOver Thy Cross a Crescent moon I see!If Thou in very truth didst burst the tombCome down, O Son of Man! and show Thy mightLest Mahomet be crowned... Poems - Post by : D.Newton - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 1559

Louis Napoleon Louis Napoleon

Louis Napoleon
Eagle of Austerlitz! where were thy wingsWhen far away upon a barbarous strand,In fight unequal, by an obscure hand,Fell the last scion of thy brood of Kings!Poor boy! thou shalt not flaunt thy cloak of red,Or ride in state through Paris in the vanOf thy returning legions, but insteadThy mother France, free and republican,Shall on thy dead and crownless forehead placeThe better laurels of a soldier's crown,That not dishonoured should thy soul go downTo tell the mighty Sire of thy raceThat France hath kissed the mouth of Liberty,And found it sweeter than his honied bees,And that the giant wave DemocracyBreaks on... Poems - Post by : shish1 - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 3626

To Milton To Milton

To Milton
Milton! I think thy spirit hath passed awayFrom these white cliffs and high-embattled towers;This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of oursSeems fallen into ashes dull and grey,And the age changed unto a mimic playWherein we waste our else too-crowded hours:For all our pomp and pageantry and powersWe are but fit to delve the common clay,Seeing this little isle on which we stand,This England, this sea-lion of the sea,By ignorant demagogues is held in fee,Who love her not: Dear God! is this the landWhich bare a triple empire in her handWhen Cromwell spake the word Democracy!_________ The EndTo n, a poem by... Poems - Post by : imported_n/a - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 1382

Ave Imperatrix Ave Imperatrix

Ave Imperatrix
Set in this stormy Northern sea,Queen of these restless fields of tide,England! what shall men say of thee,Before whose feet the worlds divide?The earth, a brittle globe of glass,Lies in the hollow of thy hand,And through its heart of crystal pass,Like shadows through a twilight land,The spears of crimson-suited war,The long white-crested waves of fight,And all the deadly fires which areThe torches of the lords of Night.The yellow leopards, strained and lean,The treacherous Russian knows so well,With gaping blackened jaws are seenLeap through the hail of screaming shell.The strong sea-lion of England's warsHath left his sapphire cave of sea,To battle with... Poems - Post by : Safari - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 3108

Sonnet To Liberty Sonnet To Liberty

Sonnet To Liberty
Not that I love thy children, whose dull eyesSee nothing save their own unlovely woe,Whose minds know nothing, nothing care to know,--But that the roar of thy Democracies,Thy reigns of Terror, thy great Anarchies,Mirror my wildest passions like the seaAnd give my rage a brother--! Liberty!For this sake only do thy dissonant criesDelight my discreet soul, else might all kingsBy bloody knout or treacherous cannonadesRob nations of their rights inviolateAnd I remain unmoved--and yet, and yet,These Christs that die upon the barricades,God knows it I am with them, in some things._________ The EndOscar Wilde's poem: Sonnet To Liberty... Poems - Post by : merlins - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 3255

Helas! Helas!

To drift with every passion till my soulIs a stringed lute on which can winds can play,Is it for this that I have given awayMine ancient wisdom and austere control?Methinks my life is a twice-written scrollScrawled over on some boyish holidayWith idle songs for pipe and virelay,Which do but mar the secret of the whole.Surely there was a time I might have trodThe sunlit heights, and from life's dissonanceStruck one clear chord to reach the ears of God:Is that time dead? lo! with a little rodI did but touch the honey of romance--And must I lose a soul's inheritance?_________ The EndOscar... Poems - Post by : rameses - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 2092

The Truth Of Masks - A Note On Illusion The Truth Of Masks - A Note On Illusion

The Truth Of Masks - A Note On Illusion
In many of the somewhat violent attacks that have recently been made on that splendour of mounting which now characterises our Shakespearian revivals in England, it seems to have been tacitly assumed by the critics that Shakespeare himself was more or less indifferent to the costumes of his actors, and that, could he see Mrs. Langtry's production of Antony and Cleopatra, he would probably say that the play, and the play only, is the thing, and that everything else is leather and prunella. While, as regards any historical accuracy in dress, Lord Lytton, in an article in the Nineteenth Century,... Essays - Post by : daveb - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 2672

The Critic As Artist The Critic As Artist

The Critic As Artist
THE CRITIC AS ARTIST: WITH SOME REMARKS UPON THE IMPORTANCE OF DOING NOTHINGA DIALOGUE. Part I. Persons: Gilbert and Ernest. Scene: the library of a house in Piccadilly, overlooking the Green Park.GILBERT (at the Piano). My dear Ernest, what are you laughing at?ERNEST (looking up). At a capital story that I have just come across in this volume of Reminiscences that I have found on your table.GILBERT. What is the book? Ah! I see. I have not read it yet. Is it good?ERNEST. Well, while you have been playing,... Essays - Post by : cyberlife - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 3445

Pen, Pencil, And Poison Pen, Pencil, And Poison

Pen, Pencil, And Poison
It has constantly been made a subject of reproach against artists and men of letters that they are lacking in wholeness and completeness of nature. As a rule this must necessarily be so. That very concentration of vision and intensity of purpose which is the characteristic of the artistic temperament is in itself a mode of limitation. To those who are preoccupied with the beauty of form nothing else seems of much importance. Yet there are many exceptions to this rule. Rubens served as ambassador, and Goethe as state councillor, and Milton as Latin secretary to Cromwell.... Essays - Post by : Lydia - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 1851

The Decay Of Lying: An Observation The Decay Of Lying: An Observation

The Decay Of Lying: An Observation
A DIALOGUE. Persons: Cyril and Vivian. Scene: the Library of a country house in Nottinghamshire.CYRIL (coming in through the open window from the terrace). My dear Vivian, don't coop yourself up all day in the library. It is a perfectly lovely afternoon. The air is exquisite. There is a mist upon the woods, like the purple bloom upon a plum. Let us go and lie on the grass and smoke cigarettes and enjoy Nature.VIVIAN. Enjoy Nature! I am glad to say that I have entirely lost that faculty. People... Essays - Post by : billgluth - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 1678

The Soul Of Man Under Socialism The Soul Of Man Under Socialism

The Soul Of Man Under Socialism
The chief advantage that would result from the establishment of Socialism is, undoubtedly, the fact that Socialism would relieve us from that sordid necessity of living for others which, in the present condition of things, presses so hardly upon almost everybody. In fact, scarcely anyone at all escapes.Now and then, in the course of the century, a great man of science, like Darwin; a great poet, like Keats; a fine critical spirit, like M. Renan; a supreme artist, like Flaubert, has been able to isolate himself, to keep himself out of reach of the clamorous claims of others, to stand... Essays - Post by : butch_cassidi - Date : October 2009 - Author : Oscar Wilde - Read : 1508