Page:Writings of Oscar Wilde - Volume 01.djvu/102
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THE WRITINGS OF OSCAR WILDE.
ii.
And yet what joy it were for me
To turn my feet unto the south,
And journeying toward the Tiber mouth
To kneel again at Fiesole!
To turn my feet unto the south,
And journeying toward the Tiber mouth
To kneel again at Fiesole!
And wandering through the tangled pines
That break the gold of Arno's stream,
To see the purple mist and gleam
Of morning on the Apennines.
That break the gold of Arno's stream,
To see the purple mist and gleam
Of morning on the Apennines.
By many a vineyard-hidden home,
Orchard, and olive-garden gray,
Till from the drear Campagna's way
The seven hills bear up the dome!
Orchard, and olive-garden gray,
Till from the drear Campagna's way
The seven hills bear up the dome!
iii.
A pilgrim from the northern seas—
What joy for me to seek alone
The wondrous Temple, and the throne
Of Him who holds the awful keys!
What joy for me to seek alone
The wondrous Temple, and the throne
Of Him who holds the awful keys!