In the Storm

... Storms of snow, and thunder..
Never had they crossed the mind — and our world barely past autumn!
Never have my eyes seen, since first I knew the world, such a thunderous blast,
sowing terror in our land — and only a while ago it was clear skies and sun!

*

It raves mad in the plain:
it wrestles the gentle olive trees..
it flings their branches about... and strikes down their berries, shaking them loose...
it storms over the valleys with rattling and clamor,
and floods the water-channels with wailing and lament!..

*

And it raves mad in the mountain...
it blinds the little shepherd girls
driving, in dread, toward the fold —
amid the ringing of bells and the bleating of throats —
their sheep and goats... Come along! away from the meadow,
away from the tender shoot, and the tear of water in the hollow of the rock!!

*

And it raves mad in the city...
The pretty one hurries to her window, anxious...
she draws her blue shawl about her shoulders...
her eye on the sky in its great fury,
and on the far hills, deep in the fog...

Has the headlong snow, she wonders, buried those paths,
... so that her beloved will not come hastening to her,
his eyes brimming with the tremblings of longing,
and in his hand a quivering bunch of field lilies, his gift to her??..
Who, she wonders, has sheltered her beloved from the face of the storm?
And dried his hair of the drops of water?
Have the lily blossoms wilted under the press of his fingers?
And have they been scorched, in the frost, by the heat of his breath??