Poems

1881 · Book · Oscar Wilde

“To drift with every passion till my soul”

From the book:Not that I love thy children, whose dull eyesSee nothing save their own unlovely woe,Whose minds know nothing, nothing care to know, -But that the roar of thy Democracies,Thy reigns of Terror, thy great Anarchies,Mirror my wildest passions like the seaAnd give my rage a brother -! Liberty!For this sake only do thy dissonant criesDelight my discreet soul, else might all kingsBy bloody knout or treacherous cannonadesRob nations of their rights inviolateAnd I remain unmoved - and yet, and yet,These Christs that die upon the barricades,God knows it I am with them, in some things. by Oscar Wilde