Monday, November 3, 2008

The Grave of Keats
by Oscar Wilde

Rid of the world's injustice, and his pain,
He rests at last beneath God's veil of blue:
Taken from life when life and love were new
The youngest of the martyrs here is lain,
Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain.
No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew,
But gentle violets weeping with the dew
Weave on his bones an ever-blossoming chain.
O proudest heart that broke for misery!
O sweetest lips since those of Mitylene!
O poet-painter of our English Land!
Thy name was writ in water - it shall stand:
And tears like mine will keep thy memory green,
As Isabella did her Basil-tree.

I mostly chose this poem because of Isabella's name in the last line and the "gentle violets weeping with the dew."

1 comment:

Lola said...

I love Oscar Wilde!

I just haven't read enough of him. I mostly enjoyed his plays and childrens lit. The Selfish Giant makes me tear up every time I read it!