Oscar Wilde




To My Wife

I can write no stately proem
    As a prelude to my lay;
From a poet to a poem
    I would dare to say.

For if of these fallen petals
    One to you seem fair,
Love will waft it till it settles
    On your hair.

And when wind and winter harden
    All the loveless land,
It will whisper of the garden,
    You will understand.