To drift with every passion till my soul
Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play,
Is it for this that I have given away
Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control?
Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll
Scrawled over on some boyish holiday
With idle songs for pipe and virelay,
Which do but mar the secret of the whole.
Surely there was a time I might have trod
The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance
Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God.
Is that time dead? lo! with a little rod
I did but touch the honey of romance
And must I lose a soul's inheritance?
- Sad Love Poem
by Oscar Wilde
Deceiving others.
That is what the world
calls a romance.
- Oscar Wilde
Between men and women there
is no friendship possible.
There is passion, enmity, worship,
love, but no friendship.
- Oscar Wilde
