Page:Songs before sunrise (IA beforesunrisongs00swinrich).pdf/211

 Till the maid, knowing her mother near, Sobs with love, aching with sweet fear? What do ye here?

For the outer land is sad, and wears A raiment of a flaming fire; And the fierce fruitless mountain stairs Climb, yet seem wroth and loth to aspire, Climb, and break, and are broken down, And through their clefts and crests the town Looks west and sees the dead sun lie, In sanguine death that stains the sky With angry dye.

And from the war-worn wastes without In twilight, in the time of doubt, One sound comes of one whisper, where Moved with low motions of slow air The great trees nigh the castle swing In the sad coloured evening; "Ricorditi di me, che son La Pia"—that small sweet word alone Is not yet gone.

"Ricorditi di me"—the sound Sole out of deep dumb days remote