Kitobdan iqtiboslar  Selected Poems of Oscar Wilde
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We were as men who through a fen Of filthy darkness grope: We did not dare to breathe a prayer, Or to give our anguish scope: Something was dead in each of us, And what was dead was Hope.
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I knew that somewhere in the world God's dreadful dawn was red.
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And, as we prayed, we grew afraid Of the Justice of the Sun.
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Is a gentlemanly game, But he does not win who plays with Sin In the secret House of Shame.'
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The watchers watched him as he slept, And could not understand How one could sleep so sweet a sleep With a hangman close at hand
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We trod the Fools' Parade! We did not care: we knew we were The Devil's Own Brigade: And shaven head and feet of lead Make a merry masquerade.
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what should Human Pity do Pent up in Murderers' Hole? What word of grace in such a place Could help a brother's soul?
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The Doctor said that Death was but A scientific fact: And twice a day the Chaplain called, And left a little tract. And twice a day he smoked his pipe, And drank his quart of beer: His soul was resolute, and held No hiding-place for fear; He often said that he was glad The hangman's hands were near.
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Like two doomed ships that pass in storm We had crossed each other's way: But we made no sign, we said no word, We had no word to say; For we did not meet in the holy night, But in the shameful day. A prison wall was round us both, Two outcast men we were: The world had thrust us from its heart, And God from out His care: And the iron gin that waits for Sin Had caught us in its snare.
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It is sweet to dance to violins When Love and Life are fair: To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes Is delicate and rare: But it is not sweet with nimble feet To dance upon the air!
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