While The Billy BoilsSearchA 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 There’s little time to grieve—The only city in the world That I was loath to leave.
I’ve said farewell to tinted days And glorious starry nights,I’ve 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.