letra de the grave of shelley - oscar wilde - sean barrett
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like burnt-out torches by a sick man’s bed
gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
here doth the little night-owl make her throne
and the slight lizard show his jewelled head
and, where the chaliced poppies flame to red
in the still chamber of yon pyramid
surely some old-world sphinx lurks darkly hid
grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead
ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
of earth, great mother of eternal sleep
but sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
in the blue cavern of an echoing deep
or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep
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