or
"In vain the laughing girl will yearn
To greet her love with love-lit eyes:
Down in some treacherous ravine,
Clutching the flag, the dead boy lies."
That he should have written such a poem is proof conclusive of the author's extraordinary versatility, and though a comparatively early production is worthy to rank with the finest war poems in the language.
Current events at that time attracted his pen for we find a set of verses on the death of the ill-fated Prince Imperial, a sonnet on the Bulgarian Christians, and others of a more or less patriotic character. Few of these productions, however, invite a very serious criticism. They were of the moment and for the moment, and have lost the appeal of freshness and actuality.
In "The Garden of Eros" we get a good insight into Wilde's passionate fondness for flowers, to whom they were human things with souls. Probably no other verses of the poet so well define and express this master passion of his life.
"... Mark how the yellow iris wearily
Leans back its throat, as though it would be kissed
By its false chamberer, the dragon-fly."
or
"And I will tell thee why the jacynth wears
Such dread embroidery of dolorous moan."
or again
"Close to a shadowy nook where half afraid
Of their own loneliness some violets lie
That will not look the gold sun in the face."