Submit Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Giorno dei Morti

by
 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.

Poem by
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - Giorno dei MortiEmail Poem | Create an image from this poem

Top David Herbert Lawrence Poems

Analysis and Comments on Giorno dei Morti

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Giorno dei Morti here.