Explore "The Burden of Itys" by Oscar Wilde on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
This English Thames is holier far than Rome, / Those harebells like a sudden flush of sea / Breaking across the woodland, with the foam / Of meadow-sweet and white anemone / To fleck their blue waves -- God is likelier there / Than hidden in that crystal-hearted star the pale monks bear!
Those violet-gleaming butterflies that take / Yon creamy lily for their pavilion / Are monsignores, and where the rushes shake / A lazy pike lies basking in the sun, / His eyes half shut -- he is some mitred old / Bishop in partibus! look at those gaudy scales all green and gold.