Şiir, Sadece

Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the...

This English Thames is holier far than Rome, Those harebells like a sudden flush of sea Breaking across the woodland, with the foam Of mead...

We caught the tread of dancing feet, We loitered down the moonlit street, And stopped beneath the harlot’s house. Inside, above the din an...

     In this poem the author laments the growth of materialism in the nineteenth century. He hails Keats and Shelley and some of the poets a...

To L. L. Could we dig up this long-buried treasure, Were it worth the pleasure, We never could learn love’s song, We are parted too long. ...

Albeit nurtured in democracy, And liking best that state republican Where every man is Kinglike and no man Is crowned above his fellows, ye...

Was this His coming! I had hoped to see A scene of wondrous glory, as was told Of some great God who in a rain of gold Broke open bars and ...

Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring, Sad olive-groves, or silver-breasted dove, Teach me more clearly of Thy life and love Than...

To Sarah Bernhardt How vain and dull this common world must seem To such a One as thou, who should’st have talked At Florence with Mirandol...

To my Friend Henry Irving The silent room, the heavy creeping shade, The dead that travel fast, the opening door, The murdered brother risin...

To Ellen Terry. Written at the Lyceum Theatre I marvel not Bassanio was so bold To peril all he had upon the lead, Or that proud Aragon bent...

The sea was sapphire coloured, and the sky Burned like a heated opal through the air; We hoisted sail; the wind was blowing fair For the bl...

O singer of Persephone! In the dim meadows desolate Dost thou remember Sicily? Still through the ivy flits the bee Where Amaryllis lies in ...

After gaining the Berkeley Gold Medal for Greek at Trinity College, Dublin, in 1874, Oscar Wilde proceeded to Oxford, where he obtained a d...

I can write no stately proem As a prelude to my lay; From a poet to a poem I would dare to say. For if of these fallen petals One to you se...

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 d...

In Reading gaol by Reading town There is a pit of shame, And in it lies a wretched man Eaten by teeth of flame, In a burning winding-sheet ...

I know not whether Laws be right, Or whether Laws be wrong; All that we know who lie in gaol Is that the wall is strong; And that each day ...

There is no chapel on the day On which they hang a man: The Chaplain’s heart is far too sick, Or his face is far too wan, Or there is that w...

In Debtors’ Yard the stones are hard, And the dripping wall is high, So it was there he took the air Beneath the leaden sky, And by each sid...