Explore "Holy Week at Genoa" by Oscar Wilde on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.