A poem written by Oscar Wilde.
If anyone was ever able to write about despair, it was Oscar Wilde. Desespoir, the French word for despair is a poem that would fit his own life in some way.

About the poem

The life of Oscar Wilde was not always easy. Accused of homsexual acts and condemned for what he thought was good. It may well have inspired him to write such a strong poem. A poem that is build on the basis of pure poetry: metaphors!

Yes, metaphors. The writer tells us about spring (a new beginning) and slowly, the seasons turn. Till it is winter. Winter is of course the final chapter in life.

The sea even plays a role of significance, as it is the turbulence that resembles things in life that don’t always seem to go as planned.


By Oscar Wilde

The seasons send their ruin as they go,
For in the spring the narciss shows its head
Nor withers till the rose has flamed to red,
And in the autumn purple violets blow,
And the slim crocus stirs the winter snow;
Wherefore yon leafless trees will bloom again
And this grey land grow green with summer rain
And send up cowslips for some boy to mow.

But what of life whose bitter hungry sea
Flows at our heels, and gloom of sunless night
Covers the days which never more return?
Ambition, love and all the thoughts that burn
We lose too soon, and only find delight
In withered husks of some dead memory.

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