“So quiet are the green woods Of our homeland, The crystalline wave Dying away by the ruined wall, And we wept in sleep; Wandering with timid steps Down past the thorny thicket, Singers in summer's eve, In the sacred peace Of the far resplendent vineyard; Shadows now in the cool womb Of night, grief-stricken eagles. As gently does a moonlit beam close The scarlet scars of melancholy.”



















