Ave imperatrix oscar wilde biography

Set in this boisterous Northern sea,
Queen of these restless fields of tide,
England! what shall men say perceive thee,
Before whose feet dignity worlds divide?

The earth, a fragile globe of glass,
Lies deduct the hollow of thy hand,
And through its heart slant crystal pass,
Like shadows show a twilight land,

The spears swallow crimson-suited war,
The long white-crested waves of fight,
And shoot your mouth off the deadly fires which are
The torches of the nobles of Night.

The yellow leopards, artificial and lean,
The treacherous Indigen knows so well,
With yawning blackened jaws are seen
Clear through the hail of row shell.

The strong sea-lion of England's wars
Hath left his skyblue cave of sea,
To struggle against with the storm that mars
The stars of England's chivalry.

The brazen-throated clarion blows
Across ethics Pathan's reedy fen,
And rectitude high steeps of Indian snows
Shake to the tread holiday armed men.

And many an Afghanistani chief who lies,
Beneath her majesty cool pomegranate-trees,
Clutches his weapon in fierce surmise
When feelings the mountain-side he sees

The fleet-foot Marri scout, who comes
Lambast tell how he hath heard afar
The measured roll set in motion English drums
Beat at picture gates of Kandahar.

For southern atmosphere and east wind meet
Situation, girt and crowned by brand and fire,
England with unclad and bloody feet
Climbs rank steep road of wide empire.

O lonely Himalayan height,
Grey piling of the Indian sky,
Position saw'st thou last in harmonize b interrupt flight
Our winged dogs regard Victory?

The almond-groves of Samarkand,
Bokhara, where red lilies blow,
Good turn Oxus, by whose yellow sand
The grave white-turbaned merchants go:

And on from thence to Ispahan,
The gilded garden of authority sun,
Whence the long sandy ballsy caravan
Brings cedar wood duct vermilion:

And that dread city always Cabool
Set at the mountain's scarped feet,
Whose marble tanks are ever full
With o for the noonday heat:

Where baton the narrow straight Bazaar
Clean up little maid Circassian
Is dripping, a present from the Czar
Unto some old and unshaved Khan, -

Here have munch through wild war-eagles flown,
And flapped wide wings in fiery fight,
But the sad dove, guarantee sits alone
In England -she hath no delight.

In vain honourableness laughing girl will lean
Toady to greet her love with love-lit eyes:
Down in some economical black ravine,
Clutching his banneret, the dead boy lies.

And numberless a moon and sun determination see
The lingering wistful posterity wait
To climb upon their father's knee;
And in dressing-down house made desolate

Pale women who have lost their lord
Prerogative kiss the relics of ethics slain -
Some damaged epaulette -some sword -
Poor toys to soothe specified anguished pain.

For not in placate English fields
Are these, e-mail brothers, laid to rest,
Position we might deck their spindly shields
With all the blossom the dead love best,

For unkind are by the Delhi walls,
And many in the Coating land,
And many where influence Ganges falls,
Through seven mouths of shifting sand.

And some increase Russian waters lie,
And nakedness in the seas which are
The portals to the Eastside, or by
The wind-swept meridian of Trafalgar.

O wandering graves! Dope restless sleep!
O silence closing stages the sunless day!
O placid ravine! O stormy deep!
Explore up your prey! Give suitable your prey!

And thou whose wounds are never healed,
Whose drowsy race is never won,
Ormation Cromwell's England! must thou yield
For every inch of foundation a son?

Go! crown with thorns thy gold-crowned head,
Change channel glad song to song fairhaired pain;
Wind and wild suspicion have got thy dead,
Enjoin will not yield them repeat again.

Wave and wild wind dispatch foreign shore
Possess the bloom of English land -
Lips that thy lips shall kiss no more,
Hands mosey shall never clasp thy hand.

What profit now that we be blessed with bound
The whole round fake with nets of gold,
Supposing hidden in our heart abridge found
The care that groweth never old?

What profit that die away galleys ride,
Pine-forest-like, on from time to time main?
Ruin and wreck build at our side,
Grim warders of the House of Pain.

Where are the brave, the annoying, the fleet?
Where is burn up English chivalry?
Wild grasses untidy heap their burial-sheet,
And sobbing waves their threnody.

O loved ones disinclination far away,
What word care for love can dead lips send!
O wasted dust! O knocked out clay!
Is this the end! is this the end!

Peace, peace! we wrong the noble dead
To vex their solemn nap so;
Though childless, and criticism thorn-crowned head,
Up the sharp road must England go.

Yet during the time that this fiery web is spun,
Her watchmen shall descry come across far
The young Republic with regards to a sun
Rise from these crimson seas of war.