The lily's withered chalice falls
Around its rod of dusty gold,
And from the beech-trees on the wold
The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.
The gaudy leonine sunflower
Hangs black and barren on its stalk,
And down the windy garden walk
The dead leaves scatter, - hour by hour.
Pale privet-petals white as milk
Are blown into a snowy mass:
The roses lie upon the grass
Like little shreds of crimson silk.
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
Top Oscar Wilde Poems
Analysis and Comments on LE JARDIN
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem LE JARDIN here.
Commenting has been disabled for now.