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Easter Day - Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)

The silver trumpets rang across the Dome:Wilde
The people knelt upon the ground with awe:
And borne upon the necks of men I saw,
Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.
Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,
And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red,
Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head:
In splendour and in light the Pope passed home.
My heart stole back across wide wastes of years
To One who wandered by a lonely sea,
And sought in vain for any place of rest:
'Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest,
I, only I, must wander wearily,
And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.'



Thank you for posting that. It's not the sort of poem or even sentiment that one usually associates with Oscar Wilde, but it sums up the difference between genuine spirituality and the pomp of organised religion very succinctly.
Thank you. I hope that our new Pope Francis will do away with a lot of that same pomp.
This was written at a time when Oscar must have been feeling his own martyrdom very sharply too.