Charmides, and Other Poems — Holy Week at Genoa

HOLY WEEK AT GENOA

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.