Theodore Wratislaw
Theodore Wratislaw was an English poet known for his lyrical and often introspective verse. His works, including 'Some Verses' and 'Orchids,' reflect a deep appreciation for nature and a keen observation of the human experience. Wratislaw's poetry is characterized by its delicate imagery and emotional depth, often exploring themes of beauty, transience, and the complexities of love. Though not as widely recognized as some of his contemporaries, his contributions to the literary landscape of his time reveal a unique voice that resonates with those who appreciate the subtleties of poetic expression. His ability to blend personal reflection with broader existential themes marks him as a noteworthy figure in the realm of 19th-century poetry, offering insights that continue to engage readers today.
Famous Quotes
View all 3 quotes“Hothouse Flowers"I hate the flower of wood or common field.I cannot love the primrose nor regretThe death of any shrinking violet,Nor even the cultured garden's banal yield.The silver lips of lilies virginal,The full deep bosom of the enchanted rosePlease less than flowers glass-hid from frost and snowsFor whom an alien heat makes festival.I love those flowers reared by man's careful art,Of heady scents and colors: strong of heartOr weak that die beneath the touch of knife,Some rich as sin and some as virtue pale,And some as subtly infamous and frailAs she whose love still eats my soul and life.””
“Sonnet Macabre"I love you for the grief that lurks withinYour languid spirit, and because you wearCorruption with a vague and childish air,And with your beauty know the depths of sin;Because shame cuts and holds you like a gin,And virtue dies in you slain by despair,Since evil has you tangled in its snareAnd triumphs on the soul good cannot win.I love you since you know remorse and tears,And in your troubled loveliness appearsThe spot of ancient crimes that writhe and hiss:I love you for your hands that calm and bless,The perfume of your sad and slow caress,The avid poison of your subtle kiss.””
“White Lilies"Flowers rare and sweet I sent, whose delicate whiteShould, grouping at her corsage, interlaceTheir purity with her corrupted grace,With the full throat and mouth of my delight.Evil design! To see the pale flowers slightThe beauty of the worn and powdered face,Mingling their costly virtue with the traceOf ancient loves that live in time's despite.How soon they died, poor blossoms! at her throatEre of the last valse died the last sad noteNo more than love of her meant to endure,For all the savour of her lips, the spiceOf her frail spirit steeped in cultured vice,Gracefully bad and delicately impure!””
