Sunday, April 12, 2009


Easter Day
by Oscar Wilde

The silver trumpets rang across the Dome:
The people knelt upon the ground with awe:
And borne upon the necks of men I saw,
Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.
Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,
And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red,
Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head:
In splendour and in light the Pope passed home.
My heart stole back across wide wastes of years
To One who wandered by a lonely sea,
And sought in vain for any place of rest:
'Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest.
I, only I, must wander wearily,
And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.'

An astrologer's comments on
Oscar Wilde's natal chart at
Astrology Mundo.

His chart and brief bio at


Wisewebwoman said...

I've always been a fan of his. Lovely poem, sad and so evocative.
PS I hope your day was good!!

Twilight said...

WWW ~~~ The day passed much as all others, WWW. Didn't do anything special, but pleasantly peaceful :-)