SUOR LUCIA.
The stigmata—
Would you receive them?
LUCREZIA.
I am with the lost.
Give me these hands,
And let me stroke them up and down.
This land
Of the Dies Irae, O this bitter land!
The hills
Heavy with crusted blood, the streams that hiss
So low, as if from pits of hell—this land!
SUOR LUCIA.
[Slowly watching her.] You would win pardon? Do not be afraid....
The Lord was there;
In purple and in darkness.
LUCREZIA.
Oh, I would feel the wounds!
[As kneeling, Lucrezia rests her head against Suor Lucia, a profound peace settles on her, and she falls asleep.