“Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life's buried here, Heap earth upon it.” — Oscar Wilde Copy Share Image
Requiescat Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair… — Oscar Wilde Copy Share Image
“She is at rest. Peace, peace, she cannot hear, Lyre or sonnet, All my life's buried here, Heap earth upon it.” — Oscar Wilde Copy Share Image
