blushing in her glazed windows, returned a coquettish smile.
I, meanwhile, languid and sad [with fever still lingering in me,
and my nerves all heavy and lifeless as if they were weighted with lead],
looked from my window. Swiftly the swallows
wove and rewove their crooked flight around the eaves,
while in shadows malarious the brown sparrows were chattering.
Beyond the wood were the varied hills and the plain
partly razed by the scythe, partly still yellow and waving.
Away through the grey furrows rose the smoke of the smouldering stubble,
and whether or no did there come through the humid air