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My Voice

by Oscar Wilde, 1881

Within this restless, hurried, modern world
   We took our hearts’ full pleasure—You and I,
 And now the white sails of our ship are furled,
   And spent the lading of our argosy.

 Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,
   For very weeping is my gladness fled,
 Sorrow hath paled my lip’s vermilion,
   And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.

 But all this crowded life has been to thee
   No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell
 Of viols, or the music of the sea
   That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.

Published in Poems

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