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    Roses And Rue

    by Oscar Wilde
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    (To L. L.)

    Could we dig up this long-buried treasure,
    Were it worth the pleasure,
    We never could learn love's song,
    We are parted too long.

    Could the passionate past that is fled
    Call back its dead,
    Could we live it all over again,
    Were it worth the pain!

    I remember we used to meet
    By an ivied seat,
    And you warbled each pretty word
    With the air of a bird;

    And your voice had a quaver in it,
    Just like a linnet,
    And shook, as the blackbird's throat
    With its last big note;

    And your eyes, they were green and grey
    Like an April day,
    But lit into amethyst
    When I stooped and kissed;

    And your mouth, it would never smile
    For a long, long while,
    Then it rippled all over with laughter
    Five minutes after.

    You were always afraid of a shower,
    Just like a flower:
    I remember you started and ran
    When the rain began.

    I remember I never could catch you,
    For no one could match you,
    You had wonderful, luminous, fleet,
    Little wings to your feet.

    I remember your hair--did I tie it?
    For it always ran riot--
    Like a tangled sunbeam of gold:
    These things are old.

    I remember so well the room,
    And the lilac bloom
    That beat at the dripping pane
    In the warm June rain;

    And the colour of your gown,
    It was amber-brown,
    And two yellow satin bows
    From your shoulders rose.

    And the handkerchief of French lace
    Which you held to your face--
    Had a small tear left a stain?
    Or was it the rain?

    On your hand as it waved adieu
    There were veins of blue;
    In your voice as it said good-bye
    Was a petulant cry,

    'You have only wasted your life.'
    (Ah, that was the knife!)
    When I rushed through the garden gate
    It was all too late.

    Could we live it over again,
    Were it worth the pain,
    Could the passionate past that is fled
    Call back its dead!

    Well, if my heart must break,
    Dear love, for your sake,
    It will break in music, I know,
    Poets' hearts break so.

    But strange that I was not told
    That the brain can hold
    In a tiny ivory cell
    God's heaven and hell.
    If you're writing a Roses And Rue essay and need some advice, post your Oscar Wilde essay question on our Facebook page where fellow bookworms are always glad to help!

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