Flower Of Love - Oscar Wilde

Flower Of Love: By Oscar Wilde


Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was,

    Had I not been made of common clay

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

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