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Flower Poems - Poems For Flower

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Friday, January 3, 2003

Flower Of Love

Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common
clay
I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the
larger day.

From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song,
Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong.

Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed,
You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled meed.

I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine,
Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.

And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without
name,
And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of
Fame.

I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young,
And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung.

Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine,
With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in
mine.

And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the
dove,
Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love;

Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart,
Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.

For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth,
And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth.

Yet I am not sorry that I loved you -ah! what else had I a boy to do? -
For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.

Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is
past,
Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.

And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the
root,
And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.

Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God's own mother was less dear to me,
And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea.

I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in
wasted days,
I have found the lover's crown of myrtle better than the poet's crown of bays.
COMMENTS
Sherry Chen 29 January 2020
This is a very lovely poem about flowers, and i really appreciate it.
2 0 Reply
Sarah Shahzad 14 January 2020
This is a very well written poem. I really appreciate it. Thanks for sharing this... :) pleez do comment/ review/ write your thoughts on my website & poems 2 thank you :)
2 1 Reply
jackey 08 September 2019
this is a beautiful poem about flowers
1 0 Reply
Susana Velasquez 12 March 2019
MMM MMM MMM... This Poem Made Me Want To Eat At Captain Kutchie's Key West Bar and Grill.e Their Key Lime Pies Are Heaven On Earth! Jimmy Buffett Himself Was So Inspired By The Restaurant That He Ended Up Writing A Song In Its Liking! Watching Anita And Kutchie Pelaez At Their Key Lime Pie Factory And Grill In Asheville Baking These Pies Will Make Your Mouth Water. Mrs. Anita Is No Act... She’s The Real Deal!
2 0 Reply
Aastha 19 February 2019
Sooooooo big
2 1 Reply
Abdou 09 December 2018
Bleeding sensations
2 1 Reply
Aishwarya 04 December 2018
Good one Mr.Wilde
3 1 Reply
sdfihwhef 06 September 2018
u suck fgmodfhbotdgtdgfdgiojoigfdiohgiofdigtihijthjitjhijihjytpihjytpkjkjjjnjgjgjjgjgjgjgjjgjgjjgjirklfbkfhfhb
2 21 Reply
Tejashwi Kumar 31 July 2018
this was the best one
7 3 Reply
Micah 09 July 2018
Nice poem Mr. Wilde??
7 2 Reply

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