Good-bye!” and he flew away.Īll day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. “You have been trifling with me,” he cried.

“Will you come away with me?” he said finally to her but the Reed shook her head, she was so attached to her home. “I admit that she is domestic,” he continued, “but I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should love travelling also.” “She has no conversation,” he said, “and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind.” And certainly, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys. Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.Īfter they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love. “It is a ridiculous attachment,” twittered the other Swallows “she has no money, and far too many relations” and indeed the river was quite full of Reeds. This was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer. So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. “Shall I love you?” said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at once, and the Reed made him a low bow. He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful Reed. One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. “Ah! but we have, in our dreams,” answered the children and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children dreaming. “How do you know?” said the Mathematical Master, “you have never seen one.” “He looks just like an angel,” said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores. “I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,” muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue. “The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything.” “Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. “He is as beautiful as a weathercock,” remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes “only not quite so useful,” he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt. High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince.

The happy prince oscar wilde PUBLISHED in The Happy Prince and Other Tales 1888

The happy prince 1888