Oscar Wilde

My Voice

Within this restless, hurried, modern world	 
  We took our hearts’ full pleasure—You and I,	 
And now the white sails of our ship are furled,	 
  And spent the lading of our argosy.	 
Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,	        
  For very weeping is my gladness fled,	 
Sorrow hath paled my young mouth’s vermilion,	 
  And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.	 
But all this crowded life has been to thee	 
  No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell	 
Of viols, or the music of the sea	 
  That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.