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POEMS OF THE GREAT WAR
There where mighty Etna, snow-clad, thunder-torn and earthquake-riven,
Lifts the breathing springtime to the fire-black heaven!
Oh, the spring!
Ho! is it spring?
Sì! thoughts, kisses, flowers, caresses!
Time of blossom and endearing,
To dark death forever nearing!—
Time of weeping!
Time of the black hour toward us creeping!—
Signore! O signor'!
Ho! is it spring?
Time of wandering forth on earth's green bosom!
Time of passing of youth's almond-blossom!
Far we wandered, far we wandered, far, and far away!—
Across the greening lands, across the violet seas, and far, and far away!—
Flowers of the field I cannot bring, signor'.
Thinking, to thee I send the kiss of spring, signor'.
