In the twilight of a fading day,
Where shadows dance and whispers play,
Love’s tender touch, an artist’s hand,
Paints the soul with hues so grand.

Oscar’s words, like silver streams,
Flow through hearts and fill their dreams,
With passion bold and sorrow deep,
A love that wakes, a love that weeps.

Within the pages of his lore,
Lies a world forevermore,
Where hearts entwine in pure embrace,
And time itself slows down its pace.

For love, in Wilde’s timeless prose,
Blooms in beauty, even as it goes,
A whisper soft, a fervent plea,
An echo through eternity.