Requiescat


TREAD lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone
She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

AVIGNON.

by Oscar Wilde

Comments (5)

xThis peom is a favorite.
A simple, and poignant, graveside piece that speaks for anyone dealing with the loss of a loved one.
this is the best poem i ever read! it got some heart
This brings such familiarity with it, such human-ness pours from it, loss, grief, love unspoken.... My mother passed 40 years ago and not a day goes by that the root of this poem, its essence has not wrenched from my soul... Life goes on, as they say, as do the years. But not really. How intensely beautifully Mr. Wilde described this part of us.
My favourite of his.