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Sonnet: On the Sale by Auction
of Keats’s Love Letters

by Oscar Wilde

These are the letters which Endymion wrote
To one he loved in secret and apart,
And now the brawlers of the auction-mart
Bargain and bid for each tear-blotted note,
Aye! for each separate pulse of passion quote
The merchant’s price! I think they love not art
Who break the crystal of a poet’s heart,
That small and sickly eyes may glare or gloat.

Is it not said, that many years ago,
In a far Eastern town some soldiers ran
With torches through the midnight, and began
To wrangle for mean raiment, and to throw
Dice for the garments of a wretched man,
Not knowing the God’s wonder, or His woe?


Date: 2010-01-22 04:47 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I love this. The last I really love this.

Date: 2010-01-22 04:50 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I love Wilde so much for loving Keats. He wrote another sonnet about visiting his grave... really beautiful.

Date: 2010-01-22 04:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Link to the essay in which it appears:

Wilde was 22, I believe.

Date: 2010-01-22 05:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I love anything of Wilde's in which I understand the context in which he's writing -- like this.
(deleted comment)

Date: 2010-01-22 05:25 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
I usually don't post poems here anymore -- not sure why. Sometimes, though, I can't handle how great they are and they have to go SOMEWHERE. :)

Date: 2010-01-24 01:06 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Lovely piece.

Hello! I was looking around for some new Eljay friends and urbunnie recommended your awesomeness.


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