Classic Poem

(A Group BY A DRIAN C ECIONI )

H ER surely Dawn, whose blush biddeth husbandmen
Hasten to fields yet grey in the dusky light,
Beheld with rapid feet unshodden
Pass mid the dewy, sweet-scented hayfields.

Bowing her strong back over the yellow-tressed
Furrows, the elm-trees white with the summer dust
Have heard her, carolling at midday,
Challenge the raucous hillside cicalas.

And when from toil she lifted her swelling breast,
Face sun-embrowned, and dark locks, O Tuscany,
Thy vesper lights have touched with flaming
Gold all the lines of her stalwart beauty.

Strong mother now, she dandles her little one,
Strong like herself: full fed from her naked breasts
She dandles him on high, and sweetly
Prattles to him, as he fixes eager

Eyes on the shining eyes of his mother, while
Each tiny limb is restlessly quivering
And fingers seek her face: the mother
Flings herself laughing, all love, towards him.

Where'er she gazes, home with its happy toil
Greets her: the swaying corn on the green hill-slope,
The lowing cattle, and the crested
Cock in the threshing-floor proudly crowing.

Such are the blessed visions, O Adrian,
Wherewith great Nature comforts the souls of all
Those strong sons of hers who for her sake
Scorn, what the crowd love, mere husks of glory.

Wherefore, stern sculptor, thou hast enshrined in thy
Marble a lofty hope for the centuries.
When shall all men find joy in labour?
When shall they love and be loved securely?

When shall a common folk of free citizens
Cry as they gaze at the Sun: " Oh, shine down upon
Not sloth, neither wars waged by tyrants,
But the mild justice of equal labour"?