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    The Ballad of Reading Gaol
    The Ballad of Reading Gaol
    The Ballad of Reading Gaol
    Ebook51 pages29 minutes

    The Ballad of Reading Gaol

    By Oscar Wilde

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    The Ballad of Reading Gaol is a poem by Oscar Wilde, written in exile either in Berneval-le-Grand or in Dieppe, France, after his release from Reading Gaol (pronounced "redding jail") on 19 May 1897. Wilde had been incarcerated in Reading, after being convicted of homosexual offences in 1895 and sentenced to two years' hard labor in prison.
    v
    Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde (16 October 1854 – 30 November 1900) was an Irish author, playwright and poet. After writing in different forms throughout the 1880s, he became one of London's most popular playwrights in the early 1890s. He is remembered for his epigrams, his novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, his plays, as well as the circumstances of his imprisonment and early death.

    At the height of his fame and success, while his masterpiece, The Importance of Being Earnest (1895), was still on stage in London, Wilde had the Marquess of Queensberry prosecuted for libel. The Marquess was the father of Wilde's lover, Lord Alfred Douglas. The charge carried a penalty of up to two years in prison. The trial unearthed evidence that caused Wilde to drop his charges and led to his own arrest and trial for gross indecency with other men. After two more trials he was convicted and imprisoned for two years' hard labour. In 1897, in prison, he wrote De Profundis, which was published in 1905, a long letter which discusses his spiritual journey through his trials, forming a dark counterpoint to his earlier philosophy of pleasure. Upon his release he left immediately for France, never to return to Ireland or Britain. There he wrote his last work, The Ballad of Reading Gaol (1898), a long poem commemorating the harsh rhythms of prison life. He died destitute in Paris at the age of 46.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWilde House
    Release dateFeb 23, 2018
    ISBN9788827578483
    Author

    Oscar Wilde

    Born in Ireland in 1856, Oscar Wilde was a noted essayist, playwright, fairy tale writer and poet, as well as an early leader of the Aesthetic Movement. His plays include: An Ideal Husband, Salome, A Woman of No Importance, and Lady Windermere's Fan. Among his best known stories are The Picture of Dorian Gray and The Canterville Ghost.

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      Book preview

      The Ballad of Reading Gaol - Oscar Wilde

      THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL

      ………………

      Oscar Wilde

      Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the author.

      This book is a work of poetry; its contents are wholly imagined.

      All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

      Copyright © 2018 www.deaddodopublishing.co.uk

      TABLE OF CONTENTS

      Version One
      Version Two

      VERSION ONE

      ………………

      ………………

      I.

      He did not wear his scarlet coat,

      For blood and wine are red,

      And blood and wine were on his hands

      When they found him with the dead,

      The poor dead woman whom he loved,

      And murdered in her bed.

      He walked amongst the Trial Men

      In a suit of shabby grey;

      A cricket cap was on his head,

      And his step seemed light and gay;

      But I never saw a man who looked

      So wistfully at the day.

      I never saw a man who looked

      With such a wistful eye

      Upon that little tent of blue

      Which prisoners call the sky,

      And at every drifting cloud that went

      With sails of silver by.

      I walked, with other souls in pain,

      Within another ring,

      And was wondering if the man had done

      A great or little thing,

      When a voice behind me whispered low,

      That fellow’s got to swing.

      Dear Christ! the very prison walls

      Suddenly seemed to reel,

      And the sky above my head became

      Like a casque of scorching steel;

      And, though I was a soul in pain,

      My pain I could not feel.

      I only knew what hunted thought

      Quickened his step, and why

      He looked upon the garish day

      With such a wistful eye;

      The man had killed the thing he loved

      And so he had to die.

      Yet each man kills the thing he loves

      By each let this be heard,

      Some do it with a bitter look,

      Some with a flattering word,

      The coward does it with a kiss,

      The brave man with a sword!

      Some kill their love when they are young,

      And some when they are old;

      Some strangle with the hands of Lust,

      Some with the hands of Gold:

      The kindest use a knife, because

      The dead so soon grow cold.

      Some love too

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