The painting showed his perfect beauty,
For that kept he’d sell his soul
And cast aside his godly duties
To pursue his evil goals.
The devil works in tempting lies
Waiting for the weak of mind
And for each righteous act denied
Would further grasp one of his kind.
With every evil deed he stays
Adorned with handsome youthful looks
While his painting shows decay –
Reveals the slash of Satan’s hooks.
“Let the painting age, not me –
No sins, no doubts, and no regrets
I’ll live my life just as I please –
No conscience pleading to forget”.
Yet in despair he could not bear
To see the picture of his soul,
Now old and ugly he would tear
With plunge of dagger sharp and cold.
Screams of pain shot down the lane
As Mr. Grey fell to the floor,
And the maid was thought insane
When she described just what she saw.
On the floor, a monster dead
With dagger deep within his chest
Yet there upon the wall she said,
Pictured beauty at its best.
The Picture of Dorian Grey was the only novel published by Oscar Wilde.