Full Spring it was—and by rich flowering vines,
Dark olive-groves and noble forest-pines,
I rode at will; the moist glad air was sweet,
The white road rang beneath my horse’s feet,
And musing on Ravenna’s name,
I watched the day till, marked with wounds of flame,
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned.
Dark olive-groves and noble forest-pines,
I rode at will; the moist glad air was sweet,
The white road rang beneath my horse’s feet,
And musing on Ravenna’s name,
I watched the day till, marked with wounds of flame,
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned.
Wilde - Poems
