Giorno Dei Morti
D. H. Lawrence
Along the avenue of cypresses, All in their scarlet cloaks and surplices Of linen, go the chanting 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 womenfolk, 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 chanting choristers Between the avenue of cypresses, The silence of the many villagers, The candle-flames beside the surplices.
Next 10 Poems
- D. H. Lawrence : Gipsy
- D. H. Lawrence : Gloire De Dijon
- D. H. Lawrence : Green
- D. H. Lawrence : Grey Evening
- D. H. Lawrence : Heimweh
- D. H. Lawrence : How Beastly The Bourgeois Is
- D. H. Lawrence : Hyde Park At Night, Before The War
- D. H. Lawrence : If You Are A Man
- D. H. Lawrence : In A Boat
- D. H. Lawrence : In Church
Previous 10 Poems
- D. H. Lawrence : From A College Window
- D. H. Lawrence : Flat Suburbs, S.w., In The Morning
- D. H. Lawrence : Flapper
- D. H. Lawrence : Firelight And Nightfall
- D. H. Lawrence : Excursion
- D. H. Lawrence : Everlasting Flowers
- D. H. Lawrence : Epilogue
- D. H. Lawrence : Embankment At Night, Before The War: Outcasts
- D. H. Lawrence : Embankment At Night, Before The War: Charity
- D. H. Lawrence : Elegy
