David Herbert Lawrence

Here you will find the Poem Giorno dei Morti of poet David Herbert Lawrence

Giorno dei Morti

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.