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Added: May 16, 2008

From: JustAudio2008

Duration: 3:40

ATHANASIAby Oscar Wilderead by sean BarrettO that gaunt House of Art which lacks for naughtOf all the great things men have saved from Time,The withered body of a girl was broughtDead ere the world's glad youth had touched its prime,And seen by lonely Arabs lying hidIn the dim womb of some black pyramid.But when they had unloosed the linen bandWhich swathed the Egyptian's body,--lo! was foundClosed in the wasted hollow of her handA little seed, which sown in English groundDid wondrous snow of starry blossoms bearAnd spread rich odours through our spring-tide air.With such strange arts this flower did allureThat all forgotten was the asphodel,And the brown bee, the lily's paramour,Forsook the cup where he was wont to dwell,For not a thing of earth it seemed to be,But stolen from some heavenly Arcady.In vain the sad narcissus, wan and whiteAt its own beauty, hung across the stream,The purple dragon-fly had no delightWith its gold dust to make his wings a-gleam,Ah! no delight the jasmine-bloom to kiss,Or brush the rain-pearls from the eucharis.For love of it the passionate nightingaleForgot the hills of Thrace, the cruel king,And the pale dove no longer cared to sailThrough the wet woods at time of blossoming,But round this flower of Egypt sought to float,With silvered wing and amethystine throat.While the hot sun blazed in his tower of blueA cooling wind crept from the land of snows,And the warm south with tender tears of dewDrenched its white leaves when Hesperos up-roseAmid those sea-green meadows of the skyOn which the scarlet bars of sunset lie.But when o'er wastes of lily-haunted fieldThe tired birds had stayed their amorous tune,And broad and glittering like an argent shieldHigh in the sapphire heavens hung the moon,Did no strange dream or evil memory makeEach tremulous petal of its blossoms shake?Ah no! to this bright flower a thousand yearsSeemed but the lingering of a summer's day,It never knew the tide of cankering fearsWhich turn a boy's gold hair to withered grey,The dread desire of death it never knew,Or how all folk that they were born must rue.For we to death with pipe and dancing go,Now would we pass the ivory gate again,As some sad river wearied of its flowThrough the dull plains, the haunts of common men,Leaps lover-like into the terrible sea!And counts it gain to die so gloriously.We mar our lordly strength in barren strifeWith the world's legions led by clamorous care,It never feels decay but gathers lifeFrom the pure sunlight and the supreme air,We live beneath Time's wasting sovereignty,It is the child of all eternity.Audio created by Robert Nichol AudioProductions London all rights reserved

Channel: Education

Tags: arts  athanasia  classics  humanities  language  oscarwilde  performing  poem  rnaudioproductions  series  verse  web  wilde 

Rating: 5.00 (1 ratings)    Views: 309' favoriteCount='1    Comments: 3