The Poem Text
Grows crimson in the dawning light,
Though the grey shadows of the night
Lie yet on Florence like a pall. The dew is bright upon the hill,
And bright the blossoms overhead,
But ah! the grasshoppers have fled,
The little Attic song is still. Only the leaves are gently stirred
By the soft breathing of the gale,
And in the almond-scented vale
The lonely nightingale is heard. The day will make thee silent soon,
O nightingale sing on for love!
While yet upon the shadowy grove
Splinter the arrows of the moon. Before across the silent lawn
In sea-green vest, the morning steals,
And to love’s frightened eyes reveals
The long white fingers of the dawnFast climbing up the eastern sky
To grasp and slay the shuddering night,
All careless of my heart’s delight,
Or if the nightingale should die.
Oscar Wilde was a legend. In fact, given the huge amount of his books that sell out even today, he remains a legend to the present moment.
He has inspired generations of great writers and thinkers. Besides being able to work magic with his words, he was a compassionate human being, which adds to his glory.
Wilde, through this poem, propagates that nothing lasts forever. The night so cherished by lovers pass to give way to a beautiful dawn. The hills might be serene and perfect but the grasshoppers could leave, anyway.
Nature has Her way of balancing everything. She takes into consideration both good and bad, goodness and evil. Nothing is too beautiful and nothing is too ugly. She makes sure She maintains a shade of grey.
By The Arno Poem by Oscar Wilde
A Nightingale with an enchanting voice should die when the Heaven calls for it. A night, no matter how enthralling, has to end for a new morning to set in. A warm sun must give way to Dusk for the night to take over again.
Wilde writes poems as if brewing magic in a teacup, consume a spoonful and you will feel divine.