THE TEARS OF CHRIST

‘He beheld the city, and wept over it.’  Luke 19.41

 

We went up Mount Vesuvius by bus,

and stood on the rim of the crater

watching gases emerge from fissures.

We bought two bottles – a red and a white –

of the local wine, Lachryma Christi,

 for a fellow atheist from the gift shop.

As we walked back down the fertile slopes – the sea

before us, hazy, tranquil – we heard

a cuckoo. All of Campania seemed stilled –

as if it were spring in a lost England.

 

When we visited the ruins of Pompeii

later we strolled wherever we wanted

unescorted, through bars, behind shop fronts,

into decorated brothels – and lounged

beside empty pools in the atria

of the houses of the very rich.

On a sunny April day – the odd sparrow

hopping and cricket chirping, with the gentlest

of winds off the Bay of Naples – among

those tidied, geometrical remains,

the end of days was unimaginable!

 

 

 

Bay of NaplesCampaniacuckooLachryma ChristiLuke Chaoter 19 verse 41the tears of ChristVesuvius