GIORNO DEI MORTI

by: D.H. Lawrence (1885-1930)

LONG the avenue of cypresses,

All in their scarlet cloaks, and surplices

Of linen, go the chaunting choristers,

The priests in gold and black, the villagers . . .

 

And all along the path to the cemetery

The round dark heads of men crowd silently,

And black-scarved faces of women-folk wistfully

Watch at the banner of death, and the mystery.

 

And at the foot of a grave a father stands

With sunken head and forgotten, folded hands;

And at the foot of a grave a mother kneels

With pale shut face, nor either hears nor feels

 

The coming of the chaunting choristers

Between the avenue of cypresses,

The silence of the many villagers,

The candle-flames beside the surplices.

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