Explore "Santa Decca" by Oscar Wilde on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The Gods are dead: no longer do we bring / To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves!
Demeter's child no more hath tithe of sheaves, / And in the noon the careless shepherds sing, / For Pan is dead, and all the wantoning / By secret glade and devious haunt is o'er:
Young Hylas seeks the water-springs no more;
Great Pan is dead, and Mary's son is King.
And yet -- perchance in this sea-trancèd isle, / Chewing the bitter fruit of memory, / Some God lies hidden in the asphodel.
Ah Love! if such there be, then it were well / For us to fly his anger: nay, but see, / The leaves are stirring: let us watch awhile.
Corfu.