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In Praise of Shame

Last night unto my bed bethought there came 
Our lady of strange dreams, and from an urn 
She poured live fire, so that mine eyes did burn 
At the sight of it.  Anon the floating fame 
Took many shapes, and one cried: "I am shame 
That walks with Love, I am most wise to turn 
Cold lips and limbs to fire; therefore discern 
And see my loveliness, and praise my name." 

And afterwords, in radiant garments dressed 
With sound of flutes and laughing of glad lips, 
A pomp of all the passions passed along 
All the night through; till the white phantom ships 
Of dawn sailed in. Whereat I said this song, 
"Of all sweet passions Shame is the loveliest."

This poem is in the public domain.

This poem is in the public domain.

Lord Alfred Douglas

by this poet

A treacherous monster is the Shark 
He never makes the least remark.

And when he sees you on the sand, 
He doesn't seem to want to land.

He watches you take off your clothes, 
And not the least excitement shows.

His eyes do not grow bright or roll, 
He has astonishing self-control.

He waits till you are
I dreamed I stood upon a little hill, 
And at my feet there lay a ground, that seemed 
Like a waste garden, flowering at its will 
With buds and blossoms. There were pools that dreamed 
Black and unruffled; there were white lilies 
A few, and crocuses, and violets 
Purple or pale, snake-like fritillaries