(15/07/56 / Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.)

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.

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Comments (4)

Oh yes I see what you mean Donall, this is just like the feelings I described in my poem only from the male perspective. Is it just you and me or do all men and women have such feelings? I wonder... Ruthie: o)
hahahah this is pretty sweet. At first I didn't know what to think, but im hoping you didn't actually 'make love' to the night dress! Your a good poet man! Talented as hell. Check out my stuff if you get a chance
Hilarious, I actually laughed out loud. -shannon
This is both funny and sad at the same time...filled with laughter at the idea of her 'other clothes trembling' in the closet....and sad that you are so alone.