My spring is a window two feet square, up on high, from which I hear
A hundred birds in ardent song, urging winter’s chill begone.
Spring sets alight a thousand flames, passion burns; no blame, nor shame.
But for my spring-fire, I lie enchain'd ; the love that dare not speak its name.
*For his proclivities, Oscar Wilde was sentenced to the maximum punishment of two years hard labor at Reading Goal.After his release in 1898, his health and spirit never really returned.He died in Paris on November 30, 1900, poor and alone, and was buried without much ceremony.