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!
POEMS BY OSCAR WILDE
'La Bella Donna Della Mia Mente'
was originally published in Kottabos, 1876. It was revised
for Poems, 1881.