HELAS - Oscar Wilde

To drift with every passion till my soul
Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play,
Is it for this that I have given away
Mine ancient wisdom and austere control?
Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll
Scrawled over on some boyish holiday
With idle songs for pipe and virelay,
Which do but mar the secret of the whole.
Surely there was a time I might have trod
The sunlit heights, and from life’s dissonance
Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God.
Is that time dead? Lo! With a little rod
I did but touch the honey of romance
And must I lose a soul’s inheritance?

What Can I Say About Joy?

Is it the laughter that pricks us time and again?
Or the inner feeling of contentment,
Settled upon barren land like a pond,
That ebbs and flows with season?
Or a river that will always overflow its bank?

Strange phenomenon indeed,
That will make you cry, laugh and moan,
That you all at once know.

Aha – then; excitement is like rain on dry land.
Enough of it and a puddle of happiness ensues.
As for joy, it is a regenerating spring that serves life.

Somehow

Somehow we met at this crossroads
Somehow means we didn't plan
And now our threads have mingled
Just like the finest yarn


Somehow how our lives are knitted
Somehow means we can't be sort
And now we're truly woven
Just like the finest cloth