Charmides, and Other Poems

Oscar Wilde

Charmides, and Other Poems

Wilde’s Poems

,

a selection of which is given in this volume

,

were first published in volume form in

 1881,

and were reprinted four times before the end of

 1882.

A new Edition with additional poems

,

including Ravenna

,

The Sphinx

,

and The Ballad of Reading Goal

,

was first published

 (

limited issues on hand-made paper and Japanese vellum

)

by Methuen & Co. in March

 1908.

A further Edition

 (

making the seventh

)

with some omissions from the issue of

 1908,

but including two new poems

,

was published in September

, 1909.

Eighth Edition

,

November

 1909.

Ninth Edition

,

December

 1909.

Tenth Edition

,

December

 1910.

Eleventh Edition

,

December

, 1911.

Twelfth Edition

,

May

, 1913.

A further selection of the poems

,

including The Ballad of Reading Gaol

,

is published uniform with this volume

.

CHARMIDES

I

He was a Grecian lad, who coming home

   With pulpy figs and wine from Sicily

Stood at his galley’s prow, and let the foam

   Blow through his crisp brown curls unconsciously,

And holding wave and wind in boy’s despite

Peered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy night.

Till with the dawn he saw a burnished spear

   Like a thin thread of gold against the sky,

And hoisted sail, and strained the creaking gear,

   And bade the pilot head her lustily

Against the nor’west gale, and all day long

Held on his way, and marked the rowers’ time with measured song.

And when the faint Corinthian hills were red

   Dropped anchor in a little sandy bay,

And with fresh boughs of olive crowned his head,

   And brushed from cheek and throat the hoary spray,

And washed his limbs with oil, and from the hold

Brought out his linen tunic and his sandals brazen-soled,

And a rich robe stained with the fishers’ juice

   Which of some swarthy trader he had bought

Upon the sunny quay at Syracuse,

   And was with Tyrian broideries inwrought,

And by the questioning merchants made his way

Up through the soft and silver woods, and when the labouring day

Had spun its tangled web of crimson cloud,

   Clomb the high hill, and with swift silent feet

Crept to the fane unnoticed by the crowd

   Of busy priests, and from some dark retreat

Watched the young swains his frolic playmates bring

The firstling of their little flock, and the shy shepherd fling

The crackling salt upon the flame, or hang

   His studded crook against the temple wall

To Her who keeps away the ravenous fang

   Of the base wolf from homestead and from stall;

And then the clear-voiced maidens ’gan to sing,

And to the altar each man brought some goodly offering,

A beechen cup brimming with milky foam,

   A fair cloth wrought with cunning imagery

Of hounds in chase, a waxen honey-comb

   Dripping with oozy gold which scarce the bee

Had ceased from building, a black skin of oil

Meet for the wrestlers, a great boar the fierce and white-tusked spoil

Stolen from Artemis that jealous maid

   To please Athena, and the dappled hide

Of a tall stag who in some mountain glade

   Had met the shaft; and then the herald cried,

And from the pillared precinct one by one

Went the glad Greeks well pleased that they their simple vows had done.

And the old priest put out the waning fires

   Save that one lamp whose restless ruby glowed

For ever in the cell, and the shrill lyres

   Came fainter on the wind, as down the road

In joyous dance these country folk did pass,

And with stout hands the warder closed the gates of polished brass.

Long time he lay and hardly dared to breathe,

   And heard the cadenced drip of spilt-out wine,

And the rose-petals falling from the wreath

   As the night breezes wandered through the shrine,

And seemed to be in some entrancèd swoon

Till through the open roof above the full and brimming moon

Flooded with sheeny waves the marble floor,

   When from his nook up leapt the venturous lad,

And flinging wide the cedar-carven door

   Beheld an awful image saffron-clad

And armed for battle! the gaunt Griffin glared

From the huge helm, and the long lance of wreck and ruin flared

Like a red rod of flame, stony and steeled

   The Gorgon’s head its leaden eyeballs rolled,

And writhed its snaky horrors through the shield,

   And gaped aghast with bloodless lips and cold

In passion impotent, while with blind gaze

The blinking owl between the feet hooted in shrill amaze.

The lonely fisher as he trimmed his lamp

   Far out at sea off Sunium, or cast

The net for tunnies, heard a brazen tramp

   Of horses smite the waves, and a wild blast

Divide the folded curtains of the night,

And knelt upon the little poop, and prayed in holy fright.

And guilty lovers in their venery

   Forgat a little while their stolen sweets,

Deeming they heard dread Dian’s bitter cry;

   And the grim watchmen on their lofty seats

Ran to their shields in haste precipitate,

Or strained black-bearded throats across the dusky parapet.

For round the temple rolled the clang of arms,

   And the twelve Gods leapt up in marble fear,

And the air quaked with dissonant alarums

   Till huge Poseidon shook his mighty spear,

And on the frieze the prancing horses neighed,

And the low tread of hurrying feet rang from the cavalcade.

Ready for death with parted lips he stood,

   And well content at such a price to see

That calm wide brow, that terrible maidenhood,

   The marvel of that pitiless chastity,

Ah! well content indeed, for never wight

Since Troy’s young shepherd prince had seen so wonderful a sight.

Ready for death he stood, but lo! the air

   Grew silent, and the horses ceased to neigh,

And off his brow he tossed the clustering hair,

   And from his limbs he throw the cloak away;

For whom would not such love make desperate?

And nigher came, and touched her throat, and with hands violate

Undid the cuirass, and the crocus gown,

   And bared the breasts of polished ivory,

Till from the waist the peplos falling down

   Left visible the secret mystery

Which to no lover will Athena show,

The grand cool flanks, the crescent thighs, the bossy hills of snow.

Those who have never known a lover’s sin

   Let them not read my ditty, it will be

To their dull ears so musicless and thin

   That they will have no joy of it, but ye

To whose wan cheeks now creeps the lingering smile,

Ye who have learned who Eros is, – O listen yet awhile.

A little space he let his greedy eyes

   Rest on the burnished image, till mere sight

Half swooned for surfeit of such luxuries,

   And then his lips in hungering delight

Fed on her lips, and round the towered neck

He flung his arms, nor cared at all his passion’s will to check.

Never I ween did lover hold such tryst,

   For all night long he murmured honeyed word,

And saw her sweet unravished limbs, and kissed

   Her pale and argent body undisturbed,

And paddled with the polished throat, and pressed

His hot and beating heart upon her chill and icy breast.

It was as if Numidian javelins

   Pierced through and through his wild and whirling brain,

And his nerves thrilled like throbbing violins

   In exquisite pulsation, and the pain

Was such sweet anguish that he never drew

His lips from hers till overhead the lark of warning flew.

They who have never seen the daylight peer

   Into a darkened room, and drawn the curtain,

And with dull eyes and wearied from some dear

   And worshipped body risen, they for certain

Will never know of what I try to sing,

How long the last kiss was, how fond and late his lingering.

The moon was girdled with a crystal rim,

   The sign which shipmen say is ominous

Of wrath in heaven, the wan stars were dim,

   And the low lightening east was tremulous

With the faint fluttering wings of flying dawn,

Ere from the silent sombre shrine his lover had withdrawn.

Down the steep rock with hurried feet and fast

   Clomb the brave lad, and reached the cave of Pan,

And heard the goat-foot snoring as he passed,

   And leapt upon a grassy knoll and ran

Like a young fawn unto an olive wood

Which in a shady valley by the well-built city stood;

And sought a little stream, which well he knew,

   For oftentimes with boyish careless shout

The green and crested grebe he would pursue,

   Or snare in woven net the silver trout,

And down amid the startled reeds he lay

Panting in breathless sweet affright, and waited for the day.

On the green bank he lay, and let one hand

   Dip in the cool dark eddies listlessly,

And soon the breath of morning came and fanned

   His hot flushed cheeks, or lifted wantonly

The tangled curls from off his forehead, while

He on the running water gazed with strange and secret smile.

And soon the shepherd in rough woollen cloak

   With his long crook undid the wattled cotes,

And from the stack a thin blue wreath of smoke

   Curled through the air across the ripening oats,

And on the hill the yellow house-dog bayed

As through the crisp and rustling fern the heavy cattle strayed.

And when the light-foot mower went afield

   Across the meadows laced with threaded dew,

And the sheep bleated on the misty weald,

   And from its nest the waking corncrake flew,

Some woodmen saw him lying by the stream

And marvelled much that any lad so beautiful could seem,

Nor deemed him born of mortals, and one said,

   ‘It is young Hylas, that false runaway

Who with a Naiad now would make his bed

   Forgetting Herakles,’ but others, ‘Nay,

It is Narcissus, his own paramour,

Those are the fond and crimson lips no woman can allure.’

And when they nearer came a third one cried,

   ‘It is young Dionysos who has hid

His spear and fawnskin by the river side

   Weary of hunting with the Bassarid,

And wise indeed were we away to fly:

They live not long who on the gods immortal come to spy.’

So turned they back, and feared to look behind,

   And told the timid swain how they had seen

Amid the reeds some woodland god reclined,

   And no man dared to cross the open green,

And on that day no olive-tree was slain,

Nor rushes cut, but all deserted was the fair domain,

Save when the neat-herd’s lad, his empty pail<br/