great snake, whose breath
Was fiery flame: which when I did behold
I fell a-weeping and I cried, "Sweet youth
Tell me why, sad and sighing, thou dost rove
These pleasant realms? I pray thee speak me sooth
What is thy name?" He said, "My name is Love."
Then straight the first did turn himself to me
And cried, "He lieth, for his name is Shame,
But I am Love, and I was wont to be
Alone in this fair garden, till he came
Unasked by night; I am true Love, I fill
The hearts of boy and girl with mutual flame."
Then sighing said the other, "Have thy will,
I am the Love that dare not speak its name."

LORD ALFRED DOUGLAS.

September, 1892.

IN PRAISE OF SHAME

Unto my bed last night, methought there came
Our lady of strange dreams, and from an urn
She poured live fire, so that mine eyes did burn
At sight of it. Anon the floating flame
Took many shapes, and one cried, "I am Shame
That walks with Love, I am most wise to turn
Cold lips and limbs to fire; therefore discern
And see my loveliness, and praise my name."

And afterward, in radiant garments dressed,
With sound of flutes and laughing of glad lips,
A pomp of all the passions passed along,
All the night through; till the white phantom ships
Of dawn sailed in. Whereat I said this song,
"Of all sweet passions Shame is loveliest."

LORD ALFRED DOUGLAS.

THE UNPUBLISHED PORTION OF "DE PROFUNDIS"

This is not the whole of the unpublished portion of "De Profundis"; but
that part only which was read out in Court and used for the purpose of
discrediting Lord Alfred Douglas; still, it is more than half of the
whole in length and absolutely more than the whole in importance:
nothing of any moment is omitted, except the reiteration of accusations
and just this repetition weakens the effect of the argument and
strengthens the impression of querulous nagging instead of dispassionate
statement. If the whole were printed Oscar Wilde would stand worse;
somewhat more selfish and more vindictive.

I have commented the document as it stands mainly for the sake of
clearness and because it justifies in every particular and almost in
every epithet the shadows of the portrait which I have endeavoured to
paint in this book. Curiously enough Oscar Wilde depicts himself
unconsciously in this part of "De Profundis" in a more unfavourable
light than that accorded him in my