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Oscar Wilde biography :

Oscar Wilde is an Irish poet and dramatist who became popular because of his comic masterpieces, “Lady Windermere’s Fan” and “The Importance of Being Earnest”. He also wrote other celebrated works, such as the novel entitled “The Picture of Dorian” and a fairy tale entitled “The Happy Prince”.

Wilde was born in Dublin on October 16, 1894 by Lady Jane Francesca Wilde and Sir William Wilde. He finished his B.A. in 1878 from Magdalen College in Oxford. In 1882, he did lectures in Canada and the United States and he eventually resided in Paris by 1883. During the mid-1880s, he was a regular contributor to Pall Mall Gazette and Dramatic View. He married Constance Lloyd and had two sons with her but their marriage ended in 1893.

Wilde’s fame ended when his intimate relation with Lord Alfred Douglas paved the way to his court case on homosexuality charges. He was convicted to the crime of sodomy and was penalised with two years of hard labour. During his ordeal, he wrote “De Profundis” which was a monologue and autobiography addressed to Alfred Douglas.

The last work he did was “The Ballad of Reading Gaol”, which revealed inhumane prison conditions at that time. Wilde died of cerebral meningitis on November 30,1900 at the age of 46.


Poems by Oscar Wilde :

A Vision

Amor Intellectualis


At Verona


Ava Maria Plena Gratia

Ave Imperatrix

Ballade De Marguerite

By The Arno



E Tenebris

Easter Day

Endymion Part 1

Endymion Part 2

Endymion Part 3

Fabien Dei Franchi


Her Voice

Impression Du Matin

Impression Du Voyage

Impressions I. Les Silhouettes

In The Gold Room

La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente

Louis Napoleon

Magdalen Walks

My Voice




Quantum Mutata

Queen Henrietta Maria

Quia Multum Amavi


Rome Unvisited

San Miniato

Santa Decca


Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Ira

Sonnet To Liberty

Sonnet Written In Holy Week At Genoa

Tadium Vita

The Grave Of Keats

The Grave Of Shelley

The New Helen

Urbs Sacra Æterna

Vita Nuova

A Villanelle by Oscar Wilde

A Vision by Oscar Wilde

Amor Intellectualis by Oscar Wilde

Apologia by Oscar Wilde

AT VERONA by Oscar Wilde

Athanasia by Oscar Wilde

Ava Maria Plena Gratia by Oscar Wilde

Ave Imperatrix by Oscar Wilde

Ave Maria Gratia Plena by Oscar Wilde

Ballade De Marguerite by Oscar Wilde

Ballade De Marguerite (Normande) by Oscar Wilde

By The Arno by Oscar Wilde

Camma by Oscar Wilde

CANZONET by Oscar Wilde

Chanson by Oscar Wilde

CHARMIDES by Oscar Wilde

Desespoir by Oscar Wilde


E TENEBRIS by Oscar Wilde

Easter Day by Oscar Wilde

ENDYMION (For music) by Oscar Wilde

Endymion Part 1 by Oscar Wilde

Endymion Part 2 by Oscar Wilde

Endymion Part 3 by Oscar Wilde

Fabien Dei Franchi by Oscar Wilde

Flower Of Love by Oscar Wilde

From Spring Days To Winter (For Music) by Oscar Wilde

HELAS! by Oscar Wilde

Her Voice by Oscar Wilde


HUMANITAD by Oscar Wilde

Impression - Le Reveillon by Oscar Wilde

Impression De Voyage by Oscar Wilde

Impression Du Matin by Oscar Wilde

Impression Du Voyage by Oscar Wilde

Impressions I Les Silhouettes by Oscar Wilde

IN THE FOREST by Oscar Wilde

In The Gold Room by Oscar Wilde

In The Gold Room - A Harmony by Oscar Wilde

Italia by Oscar Wilde

La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente by Oscar Wilde

La Fuite De La Lune by Oscar Wilde

LA MER by Oscar Wilde

LE JARDIN by Oscar Wilde


LES BALLONS by Oscar Wilde

Les Silhouettes by Oscar Wilde

Libertatis Sacra Fames by Oscar Wilde


Madonna Mia by Oscar Wilde

Magdalen Walks by Oscar Wilde

My Voice by Oscar Wilde

Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring, by Oscar Wilde



Panthea by Oscar Wilde

PHDRE by Oscar Wilde

Phedre by Oscar Wilde

Portia by Oscar Wilde

Quantum Mutata by Oscar Wilde

Queen Henrietta Maria by Oscar Wilde

Quia Multum Amavi by Oscar Wilde

Ravenna by Oscar Wilde

REQUIESCAT by Oscar Wilde


Roses And Rue by Oscar Wilde

SAN MINIATO by Oscar Wilde

Santa Decca by Oscar Wilde

Serenade by Oscar Wilde

Serenade (For Music) by Oscar Wilde

Silentium Amoris by Oscar Wilde

Silentium Amoris The Silence of Love by Oscar Wilde

Sonnet On Approaching Italy by Oscar Wilde

Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Ira by Oscar Wilde

Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Irae Sung In The Sistine Chapel by Oscar Wilde

Sonnet To Liberty by Oscar Wilde

Sonnet Written In Holy Week At Genoa by Oscar Wilde


Tadium Vita by Oscar Wilde

Taedium Vitae by Oscar Wilde

The Arno by Oscar Wilde

The Ballad Of Reading Gaol by Oscar Wilde

The Burden Of Itys by Oscar Wilde

The Garden Of Eros by Oscar Wilde

The Grave Of Keats by Oscar Wilde

The Grave Of Shelley by Oscar Wilde

The Harlot's House by Oscar Wilde

The New Helen by Oscar Wilde

THE NEW REMORSE by Oscar Wilde

The Sphinx by Oscar Wilde

The True Knowledge by Oscar Wilde

Theoretikos by Oscar Wilde

To Milton by Oscar Wilde

To My Wife by Oscar Wilde

To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems by Oscar Wilde

Tristitiae by Oscar Wilde

Under The Balcony by Oscar Wilde


Urbs Sacra eterna by Oscar Wilde

Vita Nuova by Oscar Wilde

We Are Made One with What We Touch and See by Oscar Wilde

With A Copy Of 'A House Of Pomegranates' by Oscar Wilde


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More Poems

The Harlot's House by Oscar Wilde

We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot's house.

Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The 'Treues Liebes Herz' of Strauss.

Like strange mechanical grotesques,
Making fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.

We watched the ghostly dancers spin
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.

Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille,

Then took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.

Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out, and smoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.

Then, turning to my love, I said,
'The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust.'

But she - she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.

Then suddenly the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.

And down the long and silent street,
The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.



Flower Of Love by Oscar Wilde

Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common
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
And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of

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

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
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
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.