To C. 33.
(Oscar Wilde.) I gazed upon thee desolate and heard Thine anguished cry when fell the iron gin That all but broke thy soul, yet gave thy word The strength to ask forgiveness of thy sin. I saw thee fleeing from the cruel light Of thine own fame; I saw thee hide thy face In alien dust to cover up the blight Upon thy brow that time may yet erase. I knew thy creed, although thy lips were mute; I knew the gods thou didst not dare to own; I knew the Upas poison at the root Of thy last flower of song, in prison blown. And out of all thy woe there came to me This miracle of dogma, like a cry: "No law but freedom for the vagrant bee-- No love but summer for the butterfly."
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"(Oscar Wilde.)..."
"To C. 33." is a quintessential example of Charles Hamilton Musgrove's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...