MY VOICEBy Oscar WildeWITHIN this restless, hurried, modern worldWe took our hearts’ full pleasure—You and I,And now the white sails of our ship are furled,And spent the lading of our argosy.

Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,For very weeping is my gladness fled,Sorrow hath paled my lip’s vermilion,And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.

But all this crowded life has been to theeNo more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spellOf viols, or the music of the seaThat sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.

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