Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition
Le Jardin des Tuileries (Author: Oscar Wilde)
- THIS winter air is keen and cold,
And keen snd cold this winter sun,
But round my chair the children run
Like little things of dancing gold.
- Sometimes about the painted kiosk
The mimic soldiers strut and stride,
Sometimes the blue-eyed brigands hide
In the bleak tangles of the bosk.
- And sometimes, while the old nurse cons
Her book, they steal across the square,
And launch their paper navies where
Huge Triton writhes in greenish bronze.
- And now in mimic flight they flee,
And now they rush, a boisterous band
And, tiny hand on tiny hand,
Climb up the black and leafless tree.
- Ah! cruel tree! if I were you,
And children climbed me, for their sake
Though it be winter I would break
Into spring blossoms white and blue!