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May 9, 2018 · Fallen to dust …. Its title taken from the Latin for ‘ (may he or she) rest in peace’, this short poem is one of Wilde’s most understated and touching, about a dead loved one who is now buried underground. The poem was inspired by the death of someone Wilde was very close to: his own sister.
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- He did not wear his scarlet coat, For blood and wine are red, And blood and wine were on his hands. When they found him with the dead, The poor dead woman whom he loved,
- Six weeks the guardsman walked the yard, In the suit of shabby gray: His cricket cap was on his head, And his step seemed light and gay, But I never saw a man who looked.
- In Debtors' Yard the stones are hard, And the dripping wall is high, So it was there he took the air. Beneath the leaden sky, And by each side a Warder walked,
- There is no chapel on the day. On which they hang a man: The Chaplain's heart is far too sick, Or his face is far too wan, Or there is that written in his eyes.
For blood and wine are red, And blood and wine were on his hands. When they found him with the dead, The poor dead woman whom he loved, And murdered in her bed. He walked amongst the Trial Men. In a suit of shabby grey; A cricket cap was on his head, And his step seemed light and gay;
“Death is the ultimate equalizer. It treats everyone the same, regardless of wealth, status, or power.” “Death is the great teacher that reminds us of the impermanence of everything in life.” “Death is not to be feared but embraced. It gives meaning to life and makes every moment precious.”
The Ballad of Reading Gaol is a poem by Oscar Wilde, written in exile in Berneval-le-Grand and Naples, after his release from Reading Gaol ( / rɛ.dɪŋ.dʒeɪl /) on 19 May 1897. Wilde had been incarcerated in Reading after being convicted of gross indecency with other men in 1895 and sentenced to two years' hard labour in prison.
Fallen to dust. Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew. She was a woman, so. Sweetly she grew. Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone. She is at rest. Peace, Peace, she cannot hear. Lyre or sonnet, All my life’s buried here, Heap earth upon it. This poem is in the public domain. Requiescat - Tread lightly, she is near
