Insomnia and Wilde.
And her sweet red lips on these lips of mine
Burned like the ruby fire set
In the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine,
Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate,
Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wet
With the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.
- Oscar Wilde, "In the Gold Room: A Harmony"
Posted in: Lit on Wednesday, August 9, 2006 at
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