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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=473278" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Panthea</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">NAY, let us walk from fire unto fire,<br> From passionate pain to deadlier delight,--<br> I am too young to live without desire,<br> Too young art thou to waste this summer night<br> Asking those idle questions which of old<br> Man sought of seer and oracle, and no reply was told.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> For, sweet, to feel is better than to know,<br> And wisdom is a childless heritage,<br> One pulse of passion--youth's first fiery glow,--<br> Are worth the hoarded proverbs of the sage:<br> Vex not thy soul with dead philosophy,<br> Have we not lips to kiss with, hearts to love, and eyes to see!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Dost thou not hear the murmuring nightingale<br> Like water bubbling from a silver jar,<br> So soft she sings the envious moon is pale,<br> That high in heaven she is hung so far<br> She cannot hear that love-enraptured tune,--<br> Mark how she wreathes each horn with mist, yon late and labouring<br> moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> White lilies, in whose cups the gold bees dream,<br> The fallen snow of petals where the breeze<br> Scatters the chestnut blossom, or the gleam<br> Of boyish limbs in water,--are not these<br> Enough for thee, dost thou desire more?<br> Alas! the Gods will give nought else from their eternal store.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> For our high Gods have sick and wearied grown<br> Of all our endless sins, our vain endeavour<br> For wasted days of youth to make atone<br> By pain or prayer or priest, and never, never,<br> Hearken they now to either good or ill,<br> But send their rain upon the just and the unjust at will.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> They sit at ease, our Gods they sit at ease,<br> Strewing with leaves of rose their scented wine,<br> They sleep, they sleep, beneath the rocking trees<br> Where asphodel and yellow lotus twine,<br> Mourning the old glad days before they knew<br> What evil things the heart of man could dream, and dreaming do.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And far beneath the brazen floor they see<br> Like swarming flies the crowd of little men,<br> The bustle of small lives, then wearily<br> Back to their lotus-haunts they turn again<br> Kissing each other's mouths, and mix more deep<br> The poppy-seeded draught which brings soft purple-lidded sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> There all day long the golden-vestured sun,<br> Their torch-bearer, stands with his torch a-blaze,<br> And when the gaudy web of noon is spun<br> By its twelve maidens through the crimson haze<br> Fresh from Endymion's arms comes forth the moon,<br> And the immortal Gods in toils of mortal passions swoon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> There walks Queen Juno through some dewy mead<br> Her grand white feet flecked with the saffron dust<br> Of wind-stirred lilies, while young Ganymede<br> Leaps in the hot and amber-foaming must,<br> His curls all tossed, as when the eagle bare<br> The frightened boy from Ida through the blue Ionian air.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> There in the green heart of some garden close<br> Queen Venus with the shepherd at her side,<br> Her warm soft body like the briar rose<br> Which would be white yet blushes at its pride,<br> Laughs low for love, till jealous Salmacis<br> Peers through the myrtle-leaves and sighs for pain of lonely<br> bliss.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> There never does that dreary north-wind blow<br> Which leaves our English forests bleak and bare,<br> Nor ever falls the swift white-feathered snow,<br> Nor doth the red-toothed lightning ever dare<br> To wake them in the silver-fretted night<br> When we lie weeping for some sweet sad sin, some dead delight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Alas! they know the far Lethæan spring,<br> The violet-hidden waters well they know,<br> Where one whose feet with tired wandering<br> Are faint and broken may take heart and go,<br> And from those dark depths cool and crystalline<br> Drink, and draw balm, and sleep for sleepless souls, and anodyne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But we oppress our natures, God or Fate<br> Is our enemy, we starve and feed<br> On vain repentance--O we are born too late!<br> What balm for us in bruisèd poppy seed<br> Who crowd into one finite pulse of time<br> The joy of infinite love and the fierce pain of infinite crime.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O we are wearied of this sense of guilt,<br> Wearied of pleasure's paramour despair,<br> Wearied of every temple we have built,<br> Wearied of every right, unanswered prayer,<br> For man is weak; God sleeps: and heaven is high:<br> One fiery-coloured moment: one great love; and lo! we die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Ah! but no ferry-man with labouring pole<br> Nears his black shallop to the flowerless strand,<br> No little coin of bronze can bring the soul<br> Over Death's river to the sunless land,<br> Victim and wine and vow are all in vain,<br> The tomb is sealed; the soldiers watch; the dead rise not again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> We are resolved into the supreme air,<br> We are made one with what we touch and see,<br> With our heart's blood each crimson sun is fair,<br> With our young lives each spring-impassioned tree<br> Flames into green, the wildest beasts that range<br> The moor our kinsmen are, all life is one, and all is change.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> With beat of systole and of diastole<br> One grand great life throbs through earth's giant heart,<br> And mighty waves of single Being roll<br> From nerve-less germ to man, for we are part<br> Of every rock and bird and beast and hill,<br> One with the things that prey on us, and one with what we kill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> From lower cells of waking life we pass<br> To full perfection; thus the world grows old:<br> We who are godlike now were once a mass<br> Of quivering purple flecked with bars of gold,<br> Unsentient or of joy or misery,<br> And tossed in terrible tangles of some wild and wind-swept sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> This hot hard flame with which our bodies burn<br> Will make some meadow blaze with daffodil,<br> Ay! and those argent breasts of thine will turn<br> To water-lilies; the brown fields men till<br> Will be more fruitful for our love to-night,<br> Nothing is lost in nature, all things live in Death's despite.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The boy's first kiss, the hyacinth's first bell,<br> The man's last passion, and the last red spear<br> That from the lily leaps, the asphodel<br> Which will not let its blossoms blow for fear<br> Of too much beauty, and the timid shame<br> Of the young bride-groom at his lover's eyes,--these with the<br> same</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> One sacrament are consecrate, the earth<br> Not we alone hath passions hymeneal,<br> The yellow buttercups that shake for mirth<br> At daybreak know a pleasure not less real<br> Than we do, when in some fresh-blossoming wood<br> We draw the spring into our hearts, and feel that life is good.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> So when men bury us beneath the yew<br> Thy crimson-stainèd mouth a rose will be,<br> And thy soft eyes lush bluebells dimmed with dew,<br> And when the white narcissus wantonly<br> Kisses the wind its playmate, some faint joy<br> Will thrill our dust, and we will be again fond maid and boy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And thus without life's conscious torturing pain<br> In some sweet flower we will feel the sun,<br> And from the linnet's throat will sing again,<br> And as two gorgeous-mailèd snakes will run<br> Over our graves, or as two tigers creep<br> Through the hot jungle where the yellow-eyed huge lions sleep</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And give them battle! How my heart leaps up<br> To think of that grand living after death<br> In beast and bird and flower, when this cup,<br> Being filled too full of spirit, bursts for breath,<br> And with the pale leaves of some autumn day<br> The soul earth's earliest conqueror becomes earth's last great prey.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> O think of it! We shall inform ourselves<br> Into all sensuous life, the goat-foot Faun,<br> The Centaur, or the merry bright-eyed Elves<br> That leave their dancing rings to spite the dawn<br> Upon the meadows, shall not be more near<br> Than you and I to nature's mysteries, for we shall hear</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The thrush's heart beat, and the daisies grow,<br> And the wan snowdrop sighing for the sun<br> On sunless days in winter, we shall know<br> By whom the silver gossamer is spun,<br> Who paints the diapered fritillaries,<br> On what wide wings from shivering pine to pine the eagle flies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Ay! had we never loved at all, who knows<br> If yonder daffodil had lured the bee<br> Into its gilded womb, or any rose<br> Had hung with crimson lamps its little tree!<br> Methinks no leaf would ever bud in spring,<br> But for the lovers' lips that kiss, the poets' lips that sing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Is the light vanished from our golden sun,<br> Or is this dædal-fashioned earth less fair,<br> That we are nature's heritors, and one<br> With every pulse of life that beats the air?<br> Rather new suns across the sky shall pass,<br> New splendour come unto the flower, new glory to the grass.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> And we two lovers shall not sit afar,<br> Critics of nature, but the joyous sea<br> Shall be our raiment, and the bearded star<br> Shoot arrows at our pleasure! We shall be<br> Part of the mighty universal whole,<br> And through all æons mix and mingle with the Kosmic Soul!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> We shall be notes in that great Symphony<br> Whose cadence circles through the rhythmic spheres,<br> And all the live World's throbbing heart shall be<br> One with our heart, the stealthy creeping years<br> Have lost their terrors now, we shall not die,<br> The Universe itself shall be our Immortality!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oscar+Wilde">Oscar Wilde</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=473278" data-title="Panthea de Oscar Wilde" data-description="NAY, let us walk from fire unto fire,
 From passionate pain to deadlier delight,--
 I am too young to live without desire,
 Too young art thou to waste this summer night
 Asking those idle questions which of old
 Man sought of seer and oracle, and..."></div>
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