By The Arno Poem by Oscar Wilde

By The Arno

Rating: 2.8

THE oleander on the wall
Grows crimson in the dawning light,
Though the grey shadows of the night
Lie yet on Florence like a pall.

The dew is bright upon the hill,
And bright the blossoms overhead,
But ah! the grasshoppers have fled,
The little Attic song is still.

Only the leaves are gently stirred
By the soft breathing of the gale,
And in the almond-scented vale
The lonely nightingale is heard.

The day will make thee silent soon,
O nightingale sing on for love!
While yet upon the shadowy grove
Splinter the arrows of the moon.

Before across the silent lawn
In sea-green mist the morning steals,
And to love's frightened eyes reveals
The long white fingers of the dawn

Fast climbing up the eastern sky
To grasp and slay the shuddering night,
All careless of my heart's delight,
Or if the nightingale should die.

Fabrizio Frosini 17 May 2016

''Though the grey shadows of the night Lie yet on Florence like a pall.'' the river Arno flows through Firenze.. Always nice finding Florence/Tuscany in poems

10 1 Reply
Roman Nikolaev 15 November 2008

bravo! a masterpiece from the master

1 0 Reply
Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde

Dublin / Ireland
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