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Oscar Wilde - Holy Week at Genoa
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I wandered through Scoglietto`s far retreat,
The oranges on each o`erhanging spray
Burned as bright lamps of gold to shame the day;
Some startled bird with fluttering wings and fleet
Made snow of all the blossoms; at my feet
Like silver moons the pale narcissi lay:
And the curved waves that streaked the great green bay
Laughed i` the sun, and life seemed very sweet.
Outside the young boy-priest passed singing clear,
`Jesus the son of Mary has been slain,
O come and fill His sepulchre with flowers.`
Ah, God! Ah, God! those dear Hellenic hours
Had drowned all memory of Thy bitter pain,
The Cross, the Crown, the Soldiers and the Spear.
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