stonepicnicking_okapi

It wouldn't be a poetry month without a little Wilde. I had this sticker in my sticker book and I'm not certain if it is Keats (it's a nightingale, I think) or Wilde (it looks more like Wilde to me). Anyway, here's a sonnet from Wilde about Keats and let's kill two birds (har, har) with one stone.

On the Sale By Auction of Keats' Love Letters by Oscare Wilde


These are the letters which Endymion wrote
To one he loved in secret, and apart.
And now the brawlers of the auction mart
Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note,
Ay! for each separate pulse of passion quote
The merchant’s price. I think they love not art
Who break the crystal of a poet’s heart
That small and sickly eyes may glare and gloat.

Is it not said that many years ago,
In a far Eastern town, some soldiers ran
With torches through the midnight, and began
To wrangel for mean raiment, and to throw
Dice for the garments of a wretched man,
Not knowing the God’s wonder, or His woe?