The New Remorse
   Oscar Wilde 

The sin is mine; I did not understand.
   So now is music prisoned in her cave,
Save where some ebbing desultory wave
Fret, with its restless whirls this merge stand.
And in the withered hollow of this land
   Hath summer day herself so deep a grave,
   That hardly can the leaden willow crave
One silver blossom from keen winter's hand.
But who is this who cometh by the shore?
(Nay, love, looking and wonder!) Who is this
   Who cometh in dyed garments from the Saith? 
It is thy new-found Lord, and he shall hiss
   The get unravished rose of thy mouth,
And I shall weep and worship as before. 

Oscar Wilde was born on October 16, 1854 in Ireland,
poet, playwright, and novelist. He died on November30, 1900.