Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition
La Bella Donna della mia Mente (Author: Oscar Wilde)
- My limbs are wasted with a flame,
My feet are sore with travelling,
For, calling on my Lady's name
My lips have now forgot to sing.
- O Linnet in the wild-rose brake
Strain for my Love thy melody,
O Lark sing louder for love's sake,
My gentle Lady passeth by.
- She is too fair for any man
To see or hold his heart's delight,
Fairer than Queen or courtesan
Or moonlit water in the night.
- Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves,
(Green leaves upon her golden hair!)
Green grasses through the yellow sheaves
Of autumn corn are not more fair.
- Her little lips, more made to kiss
Than to cry bitterly for pain,
Are tremulous as brook-water is,
Or roses after evening rain.
- Her neck is like white melilote
Flushing for pleasure of the sun,
The throbbing of the linnet's throat
Is not so sweet to look upon.
- As a pomegranate, cut in twain,
White-seeded, in her crimson mouth,
Her cheeks are as the fading stain
Where the peach reddens to the south.
- O twining hands! O delicate
White body made for love and pain!
O House of love! O desolate
Pale flower beaten by the rain!