- BY THE ARNO
- by: Oscar Wilde
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- 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.
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- The dew is bright upon the hill,
- And bright the blossoms overhead,
- But ah! the grasshoppers have fled,
- The little Attic song is still.
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- Only the leaves are gently stirred
- By the soft breathing of the gale,
- And in the almond-scented vale
- The lonely nightingale is heard.
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- 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.
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- Before across the silent lawn
- In sea-green vest the morning steals,
- And to love’s frightened eyes reveals
- The long white fingers of the dawn
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- 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.
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- Back to Oscar
Wilde
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