The House of Speranza

The house of Sir William and Lady Wilde
Where she held her salons
And listening carefully the young Oscar
to the old and young literary lions,
a handsome child with bright eyes.

Do you hear the laughter, do you hear
the fascinating talk, the porter and the wine.
O, for a green fog to take me back in time
to share some capital words of mine
that would awaken wonder and surprise.

Here's a picture of our literary darling.
If we could but warn him of feasting with panthers
and London's seedy underworld. Stay in the House
of Speranza, my boy - remember Parnell!

Take a seat seat now, or pick a book
from the library shelf. Filled with the scent of roses
this chapter of your life. Intertextuality,
sure, a borrowed line.

Go down to Bray! There's a splendid mural
of Oscar and Bosie at the railway station.
How could they know what hasn't already happened yet?
The fomenting independence, the stirrings of romance. 

The house of Speranza forever hopeful
that a son will lift all the accolades
and trophies for dear old Ireland.
Yes, the gentleman's name is Oscar Wilde
and his mother is full of pride.