но жалок тот, кто смерти ждет, не смея умереть!©
"January 1893
My Own Boy,
Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel
that those rose-leaf lips of yours should have been made
no less for music of song than for madness of kisses.
Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry.
I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly,
was you in Greek days.
Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury?
Do go there to cool your hands in the grey twilight of
Gothic things, and come here whenever you like.
It is a lovely place--it only lacks you; but go to
Salisbury first. Always, with undying love,
Yours,
Oscar"
My Own Boy,
Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel
that those rose-leaf lips of yours should have been made
no less for music of song than for madness of kisses.
Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry.
I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly,
was you in Greek days.
Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury?
Do go there to cool your hands in the grey twilight of
Gothic things, and come here whenever you like.
It is a lovely place--it only lacks you; but go to
Salisbury first. Always, with undying love,
Yours,
Oscar"
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