Genoa

A long farewell to Genoa     That rises to the skies,     Where the barren coast of Italy     Like our own coastline lies.     A sad farewell to Genoa,     And long my heart shall grieve,     The only city in the world     That I was loath to leave.     No sign of rush or strife is there,     No war of greed they wage.     The deep cool streets of Genoa     Are rock-like in their age.     No garish signs of commerce there     Are flaunting in the sun.     A rag hung from a balcony     Is by an artist done.     And she was fair in Genoa,     And she was very kind,     Those pale blind-seeming eyes that seem     Most beautifully blind.     Oh they are sad in Genoa,     Those poor soiled singing birds.     I had but three Italian words     And she three English words.     But love is cheap in Genoa,     Aye, love and wine are cheap,     And neither leaves an aching head,     Nor cuts the heart too deep;     Save when the knife goes straight, and then     Theres little time to grieve,     The only city in the world     That I was loath to leave.     Ive said farewell to tinted days     And glorious starry nights,     Ive said farewell to Naples with     Her long straight lines of lights;     But it is not for Naples but     For Genoa that I grieve,     The only city in the world     That I was loath to leave.