LA BELLA DONNA DELLA MIA MENTE (Lovely Lady of My Memory)

by: Oscar Wilde

Y 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, is 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!

• The Importance of Being Earnest - A synopsis of the play by Oscar Wilde.
• Oscar Wilde - A biography of the Irish poet and dramatist.
• Oscar Wilde (1854-1900) - A biography, plus links to purchase all of his works currently in print.
• Poems by 19th Century Dramatists - An index of poems by dramatists of the nineteenth century.
• Purchase books by Oscar Wilde
• Search eBay! for Oscar Wilde collectibles