This was the sort of thing Punch published under the title of “A Poet’s Day”: 

“Oscar at Breakfast!  Oscar at Luncheon!! 
Oscar at Dinner!!!  Oscar at Supper!!!!”

“‘You see I am, after all, mortal,’ remarked the poet, with an ineffable affable smile, as he looked up from an elegant but substantial dish of ham and eggs.  Passing a long willowy hand through his waving hair, he swept away a stray curl-paper, with the nonchalance of a D’Orsay.

“After this effort Mr. Wilde expressed himself as feeling somewhat faint; and with a half apologetic smile ordered another portion of Ham and Eggs.”

Punch’s verses on the subject were of the same sort, showing spite rather than humour.  Under the heading of “Sage Green” (by a fading-out AEsthete) it published such stuff as this: 

My love is as fair as a lily flower.
(The Peacock blue has a sacred sheen!)
Oh, bright are the blooms in her maiden bower.
(Sing Hey!  Sing Ho! for the sweet Sage Green!)

* * * * *

And woe is me that I never may win;
(The Peacock blue has a sacred sheen!)
For the Bard’s hard up, and she’s got no tin.
(Sing Hey!  Sing Ho! for the sweet Sage Green!)

Taking the criticism as a whole it would be useless to deny that there is an underlying assumption of vicious sensuality in the poet which is believed to be reflected in the poetry.  This is the only way to explain the condemnation which is much more bitter than the verse deserves.

The poems gave Oscar pocket money for a season; increased too his notoriety; but did him little or no good with the judicious:  there was not a memorable word or a new cadence, or a sincere cry in the book.  Still, first volumes of poetry are as a rule imitative and the attempt, if inferior to “Venus and Adonis,” was not without interest.

Oscar was naturally disappointed with the criticism, but the sales encouraged him and the stir the book made and he was as determined as ever to succeed.  What was to be done next?

FOOTNOTES: 

[5] His own words in “De Profundis.”

[6] In her “Recollections” Miss Terry says that she was more impressed by the genius of Oscar Wilde and of Whistler than by that of any other men.

CHAPTER V

The first round in the battle with Fate was inconclusive.  Oscar Wilde had managed to get known and talked about and had kept his head above water for a couple of years while learning something about life and more about himself.  On the other hand he had spent almost all his patrimony, had run into some debt besides; yet seemed as far as ever from earning a decent living.  The outlook was disquieting.

Even as a young man Oscar had a very considerable understanding of life.  He could not make his way as a journalist, the English did not care for his poetry; but there was still the lecture-platform.  In his heart he knew that he could talk better than he wrote.