See, I have climbed the mountain side
Up to this holy house of God,
Where once that Angel-Painter trod
Who saw the heavens opened wide,
And throned upon the crescent moon
The Virginal white Queen of Grace, -
Mary! could I but see thy face
Death could not come at all too soon.
O crowned by God with thorns and pain!
Mother of Christ! O mystic wife!
My heart is weary of this life
And over-sad to sing again.
O crowned by God with love and flame!
O crowned by Christ the Holy One!
O listen ere the searching sun
Show to the world my sin and shame.
|About the poet|
|By the same poet|
|The Ballad of Reading Gaol|
|Sonnet to Liberty|
|On the Massacre of the Christians in Bulgaria|
|Libertatis Sacra Fames|
|The Garden Of Eros|
|Sonnet On Approaching Italy|
|Ave Maria Gratia Plena|
|Holy Week at Genoa|
|Urbs Sacra Aeterna|
|Sonnet on Hearing the Dies Irae Sung in the Sistine Chapel|
|Oscar Wilde at amazon.co.uk|