Sonntag, 29. November 2009

Zum 109. Todestag von OSCAR WILDE (1854 bis 1900)


Oscar Wilde

Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daises 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.

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