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Portia

Fairytales

The Devoted Friend

The Happy Prince

The Nightingale and the Rose

The Remarkable Rocket

The Selfish Giant


Poetry

Ave Imperatrix

Ave Maria Gratia Plena

Fabien Dei Franchi

Flower of Love

From 'The Burden Of Itys'

From 'The Garden Of Eros'

Greece

Libertatis Sacra Fames

Madonna Mia

Magdalen Walks

On The Massacre Of The Christians In Bulgaria

Phedre

Portia

Roses And Rue

Sonnet On Hearing The Dies Irae Sung In The Sistine Chapel

The Ballad Of Reading Gaol

The Grave Of Shelley

The Harlot's House

Theocritus - A Villanelle

To My Wife - With A Copy Of My Poems







Portia



(To Ellen Terry. Written at the Lyceum Theatre)


I marvel not Bassanio was so bold
To peril all he had upon the lead,
Or that proud Aragon bent low his head
Or that Morocco's fiery heart grew cold:
For in that gorgeous dress of beaten gold
Which is more golden than the golden sun
No woman Veronese looked upon
Was half so fair as thou whom I behold.
Yet fairer when with wisdom as your shield
The sober-suited lawyer's gown you donned,
And would not let the laws of Venice yield
Antonio's heart to that accursed Jew -
O Portia! take my heart: it is thy due:
I think I will not quarrel with the Bond.





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