Poetry Lovers' Page

About Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde made his name as the wittiest man in London and the most scandalous. His plays filled theaters, his novel provoked moral panic, and his conversation was, by all surviving accounts, better than either. But he was a poet first.

Read full biography →

British & American Poets

Poetry Lovers' Page

Recent Illustrations

Seasonal Spotlight

Seated jewel-adorned queen in embroidered robes counting necklaces before a human skull at her feet, in a sumptuous gilded interior. Memorial Day Poems 14 poems

Most Illustrated Poems

Wilde Poem Collections

More by Oscar Wilde

  1. Helas
  2. Symphony In Yellow
  3. Impression Du Matin
  4. Magdalen Walks
  5. Athanasia
  6. Ave Maria Gratia Plena
  7. Vita Nuova
  8. Ballad Of Reading Gaol

Browse by Theme

Explore

You May Also Enjoy

Random Poem

You are here: Home » British/American Poets » Oscar Wilde » The Harlot's House


Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde

The Harlot's House

Oil painting by Atkinson Grimshaw of a wet autumn lane at night, bare tree branches against an amber moonlit sky, a single cloaked figure walking toward a distant manor house with a single lit window, iron railings and fallen leaves on the road.
A Moonlit Street — John Atkinson Grimshaw — by John Atkinson Grimshaw
We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot's house.
Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The 'Treues Liebes Herz' of Strauss.
Like strange mechanical grotesques,
Making fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.
We watched the ghostly dancers spin
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.
Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille,
Then took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.
Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.
Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out, and smoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.
Then, turning to my love, I said,
'The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust.'
But she—she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.
Then suddenly the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.
And down the long and silent street,
The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.

More by Oscar Wilde

  1. Helas
  2. Symphony In Yellow
  3. Impression Du Matin
  4. Magdalen Walks
  5. Athanasia

Literary Commentary

Oscar Wilde published "The Harlot's House" in The Dramatic Review on 11 April 1885, and it became one of the few poems on which his reputation as a poet genuinely rests. The poem stages a nocturnal encounter: a couple pauses outside a brothel, watches the silhouettes of dancers through the window blinds, and the speaker's companion crosses the threshold while dawn creeps into the empty street. In thirty-six lines of triplet stanzas, Wilde fuses the medieval danse macabre with the aesthetics of French Decadence. The result is a poem whose speaker cannot decide whether to condemn the spectacle or keep watching.

The dancers inside are never granted human status. Wilde calls them "strange mechanical grotesques," "wire-pulled automatons," "slim silhouetted skeletons," and "a horrible marionette" that steps outside to smoke a cigarette "like a live thing." The simile is precise in its horror: the puppet resembles a living creature, but the living creature never resembles the puppet. Their laughter is "thin and shrill," their dances a slow quadrille and a stately saraband performed to Strauss's "Treues Liebes Herz" ("True Loving Heart"), a waltz whose sentimental title mocks the loveless machinery below. The sustained automaton metaphor accomplishes something more than Victorian disgust at vice. It registers something of the era's unease about whether desire is freely chosen or mechanically compelled, the fear that the body in pursuit of pleasure becomes indistinguishable from a thing.

The poem turns at stanza ten, when the companion hears the violin and enters. "Love passed into the house of lust," Wilde writes, and the line's flatness is part of its effect: no protest, no struggle, just a statement of transfer. Whether this represents corruption or a more complicated merging of feeling with physical reality remains the poem's central ambiguity. What follows is collapse. The tune goes false, the dancers tire, the shadows stop. Then dawn arrives, personified as a frightened girl with silver-sandalled feet, creeping down the silent street. This final image has divided readers. Some see dawn as moral judgment, light exposing what darkness concealed. Others read it as the girl who replaces the companion, another vulnerable figure approaching danger. Wilde, characteristically, leaves the question open.

Key themes

  • Desire and the failure of moral distance
  • Mechanization and the dehumanization of bodies
  • The collapse of love into lust
  • The danse macabre tradition: death-in-life
  • Voyeurism and the observer's complicity

Notable craft elements

  • Triplet stanzas with couplet-plus-tail rhyme (aab ccb) create a sense of sealed, repeating enclosure that mirrors the mechanical dance
  • A sustained automaton metaphor (grotesques, marionettes, skeletons, clockwork puppets) controls the poem's visual vocabulary from stanza three through stanza eight
  • The pivotal break at stanza ten, where the companion's departure shatters the observer frame and shifts the poem from description to consequence
  • Dawn personified as a frightened girl provides a closing counterimage that refuses to resolve the poem's moral tension

Reread prompt

On a second reading, consider how the speaker's language betrays him: does his elaborate disgust at the dancers conceal a fascination that mirrors his companion's eventual surrender?

See something wrong on this page? Let us know.

x
By using our website, you agree to our cookie policy.