martes, 22 de octubre de 2019


Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-white, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast.
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet.
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.


Avignon
            Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde had a sister called Isola who died at the age of ten. He was twelve at the time. Later he wrote this poem to her memory.

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