Le Jardin

The lily's withered chalice falls
Around its rod of dusty gold,
And from the beech-trees on the wold
The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.

The gaudy leonine sunflower
Hangs black and barren on its stalk,
And down the windy garden walk
The dead leaves scatter, - hour by hour.

Pale privet-petals white as milk
Are blown into a snowy mass:
The roses lie upon the grass
Like little shreds of crimson silk.

by Oscar Wilde

Comments (6)

‘…to make a mistake. /I want to be free/to be me.’ Your poem freed me I’m sure …yeah thro’ mistake I can free my ignorance and become knowledgeable…excellent composition… Poet Luri...Name is specking luring…lolol Voted 10+ Ms. Nivedita UK
fun and delightful poem!
Very nice! I like the free interpretation anyone can relate!
Its lovely to be ourselves without restrictions and to let the inner self out of the dungeon that we entomb them in.... and thank you Milica.....
'Free to be me' je zaista lijepa pjesma. Citam je i projektujem na sebe.... Drago mi je da sam pronasla nekog ko je sa mog govornog podrucja. Ja sam zapravo iz Crne Gore, a Vi? Zbunilo me to sto Vam na profilu pise Australia.... S postovanjem M.M.
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