apologia

written by Oscar Wilde

IS it thy will that I should wax and wane,






Barter my cloth of gold for hodden grey,






Whose brightest threads are each a wasted day?






And at thy pleasure weave that web of pain






Wherein, like evil paramours, must dwell






Is it thy will That my Soul's House should be a tortured spot






And sell ambition at the common mart,






The quenchless flame, the worm that dieth not?





Nay, if it be thy will I shall endure,


Perchance it may be better so I have not made my heart a heart of stone,






And let dull failure be my vestiture,






And sorrow dig its grave within my heart.






Nor starved my boyhood of its goodly feast,






In straitened bonds the soul that should be free,






Nor walked where Beauty is a thing unknown.





Many a man hath done so; sought to fence


While all the forest sang of liberty,





Trodden the dusty road of common sense,


Caught the last tresses of the Sun God¹s hair.






Not marking how the spotted hawk in flight






Passed on wide pinion through the lofty air,





To where the steep untrodden mountain height

The best belovèd for a little while,




Or how the little flower he trod upon,


The daisy, that white-feathered shield of gold,





Followed with wistful eyes the wandering sun


But surely it is something to have been





Content if once its leaves were aureoled.


Stood face to face with Beauty, known indeed






To have walked hand in hand with Love, and seen





His purple wings flit once across thy smile.


On my boy's heart, yet have I burst the bars,





Ay! though the gorgèd asp of passion feed


The Love which moves the Sun and all the stars!