Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition

Désespoir (Author: Oscar Wilde)

p.801

1. • The seasons send their ruin as they go,
     For in the spring the narciss shows its head
     Nor withers till the rose has flamed to red,
     And in the autumn purple violets blow,
     And the slim crocus stirs the winter snow;
     Wherefore yon leafless trees will bloom again
     And this grey land grow green with summer rain
     And send up cowslips for some boy to mow.
   • But what of life whose bitter hungry sea
     Flows at our heels, and gloom of sunless night
     Covers the days which never more return?
     Amhition, love and all the thoughts that burn
     We lose too soon, and only find delight
     In withered husks of some dead memory.