the song of the reapers, long, distant, mournful, and wearied?
Everywhere brooded a heaviness, in the air, in the woods, on the shore.
I gazed at the falling sun—“Proud light of the world,
Like a Cyclops heavy with wine thou lookest down on our life”—
Then screamed the peacocks, mocking me from among the pomegranates,
and a vagrant bat as it passed me grazed my head.
Odi Barbare.
XX THE MOTHER
[A GROUP BY ADRIAN CECIONI]
Surely admired her the rosy day-dawn when,