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Oscar Wilde - Camma
Work rating: Medium

.        AS one who poring on a Grecian urn
            Scans the fair shapes some Attic hand hath made,
            God with slim goddess, goodly man with maid,
          And for their beauty`s sake is loth to turn
          And face the obvious day, must I not yearn
            For many a secret moon of indolent bliss,
            When in the midmost shrine of Artemis
          I see thee standing, antique-limbed, and stern?

          And yet—methinks I`d rather see thee play
            That serpent of old Nile, whose witchery                  


          Made Emperors drunken,—come, great Egypt, shake
            Our stage with all thy mimic pageants! Nay,
            I am grown sick of unreal passions, make
          The world thine Actium, me thine Antony!
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