[Oscar Wilde, Volume 2 (of 2) by Frank Harris]@TWC D-Link book
Oscar Wilde, Volume 2 (of 2)

CHAPTER XXV
31/31

If I have been in any degree unfair to him I can best correct it, I think, by reproducing here the noble sonnet he wrote on Oscar after his death: in sheer beauty and sincerity of feeling it ranks with Shelley's lament for Keats: _The Dead Poet_[37] I dreamed of him last night, I saw his face All radiant and unshadowed of distress, And as of old, in music measureless, I heard his golden voice and marked him trace Under the common thing the hidden grace, And conjure wonder out of emptiness, Till mean things put on beauty like a dress And all the world was an enchanted place.
And then methought outside a fast locked gate I mourned the loss of unrecorded words, Forgotten tales and mysteries half said Wonders that might have been articulate, And voiceless thoughts like murdered singing birds And so I woke and knew that he was dead.
[37] In the Appendix I have published the first sketch of this fine sonnet: lovers of poetry will like to compare them..


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