Here you will find the Long Poem Lotus Leaves of poet Oscar Wilde
I - There is no peace beneath the moon,- Ah! in those meadows is there peace Where, girdled with a silver fleece, As a bright shepherd, strays the moon? - Queen of the gardens of the sky, Where stars like lilies, white and fair, Shine through the mists of frosty air, Oh, tarry, for the dawn is nigh! - Oh, tarry, for the envious day Stretches long hands to catch thy feet. Alas! but thou art overfleet, Alas! I know thou wilt not stay. II - Eastward the dawn has broken red, The circling mists and shadows flee; Aurora rises from the sea, And leaves the crocus-flowered bed. - Eastward the silver arrows fall, Splintering the veil of holy night: And a long wave of yellow light Breaks silently on tower and hall. - And speeding wide across the wold Wakes into flight some fluttering bird; And all the chestnut tops are stirred, And all the branches streaked with gold. III - To outer senses there is peace, A dream-like peace on either hand, Deep silence in the shadowy land, Deep silence where the shadows cease, - Save for a cry that echoes shrill From some lone bird disconsolate; A curlew calling to its mate; The answer from the distant hill. - And, herald of my love to Him Who, waiting for the dawn, doth lie, The orbed maiden leaves the sky, And the white firs grow more dim. IV - Up sprang the sun to run his race, The breeze blew fair on meadow and lea, But in the west I seemed to see The likeness of a human face. - A linnet on the hawthorn spray Sang of the glories of the spring, And made the flow'ring copses ring With gladness for the new-born day. - A lark from out the grass I trod Flew wildly, and was lost to view In the great seamless veil of blue That hangs before the face of God. - The willow whispered overhead That death is but a newer life And that with idle words of strife We bring dishonour on the dead. - I took a branch from off the tree, And hawthorn branches drenched with dew, I bound them with a sprig of yew, And made a garland fair to see. - I laid the flowers where He lies (Warm leaves and flowers on the stones): What joy I had to sit alone Till evening broke on tired eyes: - Till all the shifting clouds had spun A robe of gold for God to wear And into seas of purple air Sank the bright galley of the sun. V - Shall I be gladdened for the day, And let my inner heart be stirred By murmuring tree or song of bird, And sorrow at the wild winds' play? - Not so, such idle dreams belong To souls of lesser depth than mine; I feel that I am half divine; I that I am great and strong. - I know that every forest tree By labour rises from the root I know that none shall gather fruit By sailing on the barren sea.