Le Jardin
The lily's withered chalice falls
Around its rod of dusty gold,
And from the beech-trees on the wold
The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.
The gaudy leonine sunflower
Hangs black and barren on its stalk,
And down the windy garden walk
The dead leaves scatter, - hour by hour.
Pale privet-petals white as milk
Are blown into a snowy mass:
The roses lie upon the grass
Like little shreds of crimson silk.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Also see the following:
- quotes about snow
- quotes about time
- quotes about hours
- quotes about journalism
- quotes about roses
- quotes about gardens
- quotes about grass
- quotes about walking
- quotes about black
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