Explore "E Tenebris" by Oscar Wilde on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Come down, O Christ, and help me! reach thy hand, / For I am drowning in a stormier sea / Than Simon on thy lake of Galilee:
The wine of life is spilt upon the sand, / My heart is as some famine-murdered land / Whence all good things have perished utterly, / And well I know my soul in Hell must lie / If I this night before God's throne should stand.
"He sleeps perchance, or rideth to the chase, / Like Baal, when his prophets howled that name / From morn to noon on Carmel's smitten height."
Nay, peace, I shall behold, before the night, / The feet of brass, the robe more white than flame, / The wounded hands, the weary human face.