Nicholson & Lee, eds. The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. 1917. |
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223. E Tenebris |
By Oscar Wilde (18561900) |
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COME down, O Christ, and help me! reach thy hand, | |
For I am drowning in a stormier sea | |
Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee: | |
The wine of life is spilt upon the sand, | |
My heart is as some famine-murdered land | 5 |
Whence all good things have perished utterly, | |
And well I know my soul in Hell must lie | |
If I this night before Gods throne should stand. | |
He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase, | |
Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name | 10 |
From morn to noon on Carmels smitten height. | |
Nay, peace, I shall behold, before the night, | |
The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame, | |
The wounded hands, the weary human face. | |
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